The Golden Cellar
The autumn air in the Carpathian foothills was thick with the cloying scent of rotting grapes, a smell that clung to the wool of your coat and seeped into the pores of your skin as you stood before the crumbling cellar door of your ancestral home. You are Elias, thirty-two years old, an exiled scholar who has spent the last two decades in the cold, sterile libraries of Vienna and Prague, but...
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