The Golden Ritual
The bell in the Archivist’s tower had a cracked voice, a sound like a dry twig snapping under a boot, and it was that sound, more than any other, that drew Elias Thorne’s attention to the window where the morning fog lay thick against the glass. "Elias," his mother’s voice came from the bed, thin as paper held up to a candle, "you are staring at the wall again, and the wall is not going to...
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