The Golden Echoes
I held the parchment in my hands, the edges soft and brown from years of folding and unfolding. The ink was faded, a rusty brown that smeared when I breathed on it. It was a deed. It was a lie. It was the only thing that could save us. The stone floor of the vault was cold through the soles of my boots. I could feel the grit of it, the fine dust that had settled over centuries, gritty against...
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