The Golden Quest
The leather satchel lay open on the oak desk, its interior lined with a velvet so dark it had turned the color of dried blood, and inside rested a single piece of parchment, yellowed and brittle as a dead leaf, its edges curling inward as if trying to hide from the light. Elias Vane, forty years old and hollowed out by two decades of penance, sat on the edge of his narrow cot in the...
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