The Golden Ritual
The rain had been falling for three days, a steady, gray curtain that turned the cobblestones of the market square into a mirror of the leaden sky. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the wet expanse, his coat soaked through to the skin, clutching a terracotta pot with hands that trembled not from the cold, but from the weight of what lay within. Inside the pot, wrapped in damp burlap, was the...
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