The Golden Ritual
The first drop of sap weighed precisely four grams on the brass scale, a weight that felt less like matter and more like a held breath suspended in the amber liquid, and Elara Vane watched it settle with the grim focus of a woman counting the last coins in a purse before a long, cold winter. She was thirty years old, a botanist of modest reputation but desperate ambition, and the lung-rot that...
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