The Golden Ritual
The golden ceremonial knife sat on a velvet cushion at the head of the long oak table, its handle wrapped in brass that had tarnished to a dull brown over decades of handling. Elias Thorne’s fingers hovered an inch above the hilt, trembling not from cold, but from the specific, aching hunger of a man who has waited twenty years to prove he is not a thief. The air in the town hall was thick,...
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