The Golden Mirror
The rain fell in sheets of grey slate, hammering against the soot-stained windows of the foundry, a relentless percussion that mimicked the frantic, erratic beating of Silas Vane’s heart. He stood in the center of the floor, his hands slick with grease and sweat, gripping a hammer that felt less like a tool and more like a heavy, dead weight of his own history. Around him, the molten iron...
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