The Golden Maze
You are late, the High Priest said, his voice dry as the dust that coated the floor of the sanctuary, and he did not look up from the ledger he was balancing, a thick volume bound in leather that had cracked along the spine, its pages swollen with the dampness of the cellar where it was kept. He listed the debts with the casual precision of a man counting coins: three years of tithes, two sacks...
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