The Golden Myth
The dream was not of gold, but of fracture. Arthur Vane stood beneath the town hall’s great dome, the surface shimmering with a light that felt less like reflection and more like heat. A hairline crack appeared near the apex, thin as a vein, and then it widened. The sound was not a crash, but a dry, resonant snap, like a bone breaking in a silent room. He woke to the taste of iron in his mouth....
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