The Golden Ritual
The gold did not sparkle; it settled. It was a dull, heavy yellow that coated the inside of Mara’s lungs, turning each breath into a grinding of metal against stone. Elias watched her chest heave, the sound wet and terrible, while the candlelight flickered in the drafty tower room. He was forty years old, his hands scarred from chiseling limestone, and he had not slept in three days. The Black...
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