The Golden Oath
Almaz Hussein’s right hand shook as he lifted the bronze bell from the shelf, the metal cold and gritty against his sweating palm. He was forty-seven of the Salt Gate, a junior archivist in a town where the harvest had failed and the grain was bought on credit, but he needed this promotion to survive the winter. The manuscript before him, the Golden Oath, pulsed with a faint, rhythmic heat, and...
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