The Golden Maze
The ink was black, but it smelled of iron. Elias knew this before he dipped the quill, a fact that sat in his stomach like a cold stone. He was forty years old, a master of the scriptorium in the town of Oakhaven, and he had been working for three weeks on the *Liber Vitae*, a manuscript commissioned by Lord Alder to celebrate the harvest of the previous year. The parchment was fresh, scraped...
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