The Golden Visit
The feast in the Hall of Whispers was not a celebration of joy, but a ritual of containment, where the air grew thick with the scent of roasting lamb and the metallic tang of fear that permeated the stone walls of Varenna. Elias Thorne sat at the far end of the long table, his fingers stained with ink that no amount of lye could fully scrub away, watching the magistrates pass around a golden...
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