The Golden Visit
The brass gear hung suspended in the amber haze of the Aetherial Foundry, a perfect, unblemished circle of polished metal that caught the light of a sun that did not exist. It was a thing of pure mechanism, a masterwork of the age of steam and soul, floating three feet above the obsidian floor of the chamber. Elias Thorne stood before it, his hands trembling not from cold, but from the...
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