The Golden Ritual
The dream began, as it always did, with the smell of burnt bread, a scent so sharp it felt like a physical blow to the back of Elias’s throat. In the dream, he held a loaf of bread made not of wheat but of pure, molten gold, and when he bit into it, the crust shattered not into crumbs but into a fine, glittering dust that tasted of ash and old iron. He woke in his small study in the valley of...
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