The Golden Ritual
The tremor was barely a whisper, a subterranean shiver that most visitors mistook for the vibration of a passing train, but to Elara Vance, the Head Archivist of the Royal Conservatory, it was a scream. She stood before the Great Hall’s central pillar, the one of white marble that had anchored the institution’s facade of permanence for two centuries, and watched as a fissure, thin as a hair of...
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