The Golden Ritual
The chisel bit into the silver. Elias held the blowpipe steady, his breath a thin white thread in the cold air of the council chamber, while the metal sang a high, sharp note that cut through the silence of the room. He was forty years old, a master goldsmith of Ashworth, and his hands did not shake from fear. They trembled because the fever had taken his son, Thomas, three days ago, and the...
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