The Golden Maze
The ink on your fingers does not dry; it shifts, a living black fluid that whispers your name in a voice like tearing paper. You are Elias, a scribe of thirty-two years, and you are currently standing in the ruins of your workshop in the walled city of Oren, watching Lord Vane’s men sweep your tools into a cart. You want only to transcribe the forbidden Golden Maze onto parchment, a task that...
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