The Golden Ritual
The feast in the Hall of Oria was a grotesque parody of joy, the air thick with the scent of roasted boar and the metallic tang of blood that seemed to seep from the very walls. Silas sat at the far end of the long table, his hands trembling so violently that the silver goblet in his grip rattled against the rim, sending a thin stream of wine spilling onto the stone floor. He was thirty years...
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