The Golden Ritual
The mercury sat at forty-two degrees, a precise and damning measurement that I recorded in the ledger with a hand that shook like a leaf in a gale. I counted the drops of aqua regia, one, two, three, into the crucible, each liquid bead striking the glass with a sharp, brittle tick that echoed in the sealed silence of the lab. My name is Elias Thorne, and I am a court alchemist in the Citadel of...
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