The Golden Quest
The water is black. It is thick. You are Elias Thorne. You are forty-two. You are drowning in the debt of your own existence. The Sunken Library does not smell of rot. It smells of ozone and old paper, a dry scent that burns the back of your throat. The shelves rise around you, towering spines of oak and iron, shifting with a slow, tectonic groan. You are not alone. The books are watching. They...
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