The Golden Ritual
The letter lay on the table, its seal broken, the ink still wet enough to smudge if one were careless. Elias Thorne read it twice, the parchment heavy in his hands, a weight that felt less like paper and more like a stone pulled from the riverbed. It was from the King, or so the header claimed, granting him a pension for his service at the border and, more importantly, a quiet commendation for...
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