The Golden Ritual
The dream was always the same, a suffocating loop of gold leaf and static that Elias Thorne endured with the weary resignation of a man who has forgotten what it is to sleep. In the dream, the assay room of the Royal Mint stretched into an infinite corridor, the walls lined not with steel shelving but with the shimmering, molten faces of every coin he had ever touched, and at the end of the...
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