The Golden Maze
The wind through the pines did not sound like a warning, but rather like a ledger being audited, a rustling of pages that Elias Thorne had spent forty years learning to ignore. He woke with the taste of iron and old parchment in his mouth, the recurring dream of the golden labyrinth still clinging to the edges of his vision, a maze of light that seemed to consume the very sight he relied on for...
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