The Golden Quest
The dream was always the same, a wet, red smear across the vellum that Elias had spent four years illuminating, and he woke with the taste of iron in his mouth, the cold damp of the scriptorium clinging to his skin like a second, heavier shirt. He was forty years old, his back curved from decades of hunching over the desk, and the only thing that kept him from the absolute void of the cell was...
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