The Golden Ritual
The rot started in the small finger of my left hand. It was a dull, grayish pulse under the skin, a sign that the King’s decree had finally found me. I am Silas, thirty-two, and I have guarded the High Throne for twelve years. I wanted to keep my post. I wanted to hold the line until the end of my days, but the tremor in my hand betrayed my age. The uncanny element of our court is the Golden...
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