The Golden Oath
The vellum is cold, a specific, biting cold that settles into the marrow of your bones even before your skin registers the temperature, and you hold it in your hands as if it were a live coal, the edges frayed and rough against your calloused palms. You are Elias, a scribe of thirty-two years, and you sit in the damp, earthen cellar of the Monastery of St. Jude, the air thick with the scent of...
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