The Golden Mirror
The rain had not stopped for three days, a persistent, gray sheet that turned the cobblestones of the Old Quarter into a slick, reflective mirror, and in the damp silence of the Archive, young Elias Thorne felt the weight of the dust settling on his shoulders like a second skin. He was only nineteen, yet he carried the air of a man who had seen the world’s machinery grind down too many things,...
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