The Golden Maze
The name came from the dark, not from a mouth, but from the grinding of the stone itself. Elias Thorne. It was not a greeting, but a toll, a heavy, rhythmic pounding that vibrated through the soles of his boots and up into the marrow of his shins. He stood before the obsidian gates of the Aethelgard Maze, the air thick with the scent of wet iron and old blood. The gates were not wood or iron,...
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