The Golden Quest
The dream is always the same: a ledger bound in black leather, resting on a desk of polished mahogany, its pages fluttering as if stirred by a cold wind that does not exist in the waking world. You see the name written in fresh, wet red ink. It is your name, Elias Thorne, and the letters are not merely written; they are carved, deep and jagged, bleeding into the paper like a wound that will not...
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