The Golden Ritual
The cellar smelled of rotting honey and old iron. Elias stood in the center of the stone floor, his fingers digging into the rough texture of the golden wafer. It was the last one. He crushed it slowly, feeling the brittle edges snap under his pressure, the powder spilling over his knuckles like fine, heavy sand. His hands trembled, a vibration that seemed to come from the walls themselves. He...
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