The Golden Myth
The morning bell from the cathedral did not so much toll as it seemed to crack the air in the small, windowless workshop, a sharp, metallic shriek that vibrated through the floorboards and into the bones of Elias Thorne, who stood frozen before his anvil, his hands trembling so violently that the gold circlet he clutched slipped from his grasp and shattered against the stone with a sound like a...
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