The Golden Ritual
The parchment lay flat on the lectern, its edges curling slightly against the cold stone. You read the letter, your fingers tracing the inked lines that smelled of oak gall and fear. It was a list of names, a ledger of debts, and the final entry was your brother’s. Thomas. The name was written in a hand that trembled, then steadied, then broke. You had spent three years copying the *Golden...
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