The Golden Quest
The dream was always the same, a recurring fever of gold and cold that left Elara’s hand trembling with a phantom weight. She woke in the narrow, damp cell assigned to court scribes, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and the metallic tang of her own sweat. In her palm, solid and undeniable, lay the key. It was not made of metal, but of something that felt like frozen light, burning...
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