The Golden Maze
The order lay on the table, the paper heavy and cream-colored, stamped with the seal of the High Council. I read it three times. The ink was still wet. It commanded me, Silas Vane, Warden of the Gilded Gate, to descend to the village square at noon and crush the last loaf of bread provided by the rationing office. The text was precise, cold, and absolute. It stated that the act was a necessary...
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