The Golden Myth
The name was called from the high gallery, a sharp bark that cut through the damp silence of the main hall. "Elias Vane. Step forward." The boy froze, his boots sinking slightly into the wet flagstones, the cold seeping up through the leather soles and into his bones. He did not move. The air in the hall was thick with the smell of beeswax, old paper, and the metallic tang of fear that clung to...
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