The Golden Ritual
The ink was still wet on the parchment, a dark, viscous smear that Elias Thorne watched with the intensity of a man guarding a sleeping child, his finger hovering an inch above the final clause of the King’s new decree on civic purity. In the high, cold vault of the Aethelgard court, the sound was not of wind or stone, but of the scratching of quills and the heavy, rhythmic thud of the...
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