The Golden Quest
The dream was always the same, a shimmering liquid gold that pooled in the hollows of his fingers, warm and heavy as molten lead, but when Brother Thomas woke in the scriptorium, the cold bit into his knuckles with the sharp precision of a knife. He sat up, the scratch of his wool tunic against the stone floor sounding like a groan in the silent dark, and looked at his left hand, the bone of...
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