The Wistful Ashes
The bell above the door of the Ironworks did not ring so much as it exhaled, a long, metallic sigh that rolled across the cobblestones of the High Street and into the lungs of everyone who dared walk near the forge. It was a sound that had outlived three kings and two plagues, yet today, as Elias Vane pushed through the threshold, it felt less like a herald of commerce and more like a eulogy....
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