The Golden Ritual
My hands were deep in the dough when the rain hit the window, sideways and hard, blurring the grey light of the morning into a smear of wet stone. I was kneading the last of the golden yeast, that thick, blue-veined paste that hummed against my palms like a living thing, and I knew with a cold certainty that this was the final attempt, the last chance to secure the Master’s Seal before the...
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