The Golden Echoes
The sound of the chisel striking the slate was a wet, rhythmic thud, like a heart beating against the inside of a ribcage. Elara held her breath, the cold air of the archive settling into her lungs with a sharp, metallic taste. "You are wasting your years on a corpse," Julian said. His voice was dry, the texture of old parchment. He did not look up from his ledger, the quill scratching against...
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