The Golden Echoes
Elias Thorne sat in the basement of the Whitmore University Archives, the air thick with the dust of centuries and the metallic tang of old paper. He was fifty-two, a man whose career had been built on the quiet accumulation of facts, but tonight his hands shook as he brushed the dirt from the object on the floor. It was a brass bell, shattered into three jagged pieces, its surface etched with...
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