The Golden Maze
Elias. The name was called by the Archon, a dry, flat sound that cut through the dust of the workshop. It was not a summons of respect, but of inventory, as if I were a tool left on the bench. I looked up from the living rock, the Chisel of Aethel still humming against my palm, a vibration that traveled up the radius and settled deep in the marrow. My hands, once smooth and strong, were now...
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