The Golden Oath
The candle flame trembles, not from a draft, but from the sudden, brittle snap of your own knuckle, and you watch in horror as the skin of your left index finger turns the color of old ash. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a scholar who has spent three decades in the dust of the Monastery of Saint Jude, and you are dying in the silence of the archive. The text before you, the...
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