The Golden Maze
Three days. That is what the Duke’s steward had allowed for the final seal, a deadline that felt less like a schedule and more like a noose tightening around the neck of the city’s magic. Elias Thorne sat in the cold draft of the workshop, the air thick with the metallic tang of iron filings and the damp chill that seeped through the stone walls of Oakhaven. He counted the hours on his fingers,...
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