The Golden Quest
The demolition notice was pinned to the corkboard in the staff lounge with a brass tack that had long since rusted brown, and you stared at it until the paper seemed to blur into a single, unreadable smudge of bureaucratic intent. You were Elias Thorne, forty-two, an archivist of mid-level competence and low-level visibility, and the notice stated that the Grand Hall would be razed by the end...
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