The Golden Maze
The rain had stopped, but the air in the courtyard still tasted of wet stone and iron. Elias Thorne stood beneath the eaves of the ancestral hall, his fingers trembling as he held the broken gold circlet. The metal was warm, unnaturally so, despite the November chill that seeped into his bones. A low hum vibrated through the metal, a sound felt in the teeth more than heard in the ears, guiding...
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