The Golden Song
The parchment lay on the table, heavy as wet clay. Elias read the line twice, then signed his name in the bottom corner. The ink was black, but as he pulled the quill away, a faint gold shimmered beneath the surface, pulsing like a vein under skin. It was a trick of the oak gall, he knew. Chemistry, not magic. But in the dim light of the scribe’s room, it looked like a promise. He rolled the...
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