The Golden Ritual
The iron key was cold, a sliver of metal that bit into Sir Aldric’s palm as he held it up to the candlelight. It was a small thing, unremarkable, yet in the dimness of the chapel it seemed to pulse with a weight far greater than its mass. Outside, the wind scraped against the stone walls of the castle, a sound like dry leaves skittering across a grave. Aldric looked at his son, Thomas, who sat...
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