The Golden Harbor
The jar sat on the table, pulsing with a slow, golden rhythm. Elias watched the ichor swirl, a liquid so bright it seemed to burn the air around it. He knew what it cost. He looked at his hand, the skin thin as parchment, the veins visible like dark roots beneath dry earth. He had been an alchemist for twenty years, serving the Crown, but in the last three months, he had lost more flesh than in...
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