The Golden Cellar
The clay pot sat in Elias’s hands, cold and heavy as a stone from the riverbed. It was a simple vessel, unglazed, but inside, the golden root system pulsed with a slow, rhythmic light that cast long, trembling shadows against the cellar walls. The sound of the village above had changed three days ago. The church bells, which usually marked the hours with a clear, iron clang, now rang only when...
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