The Golden Oath
The dream is always the same. You are in the foundry. The heat is not heat; it is a solid thing, a wall of amber light pressing against your eyelids. You see the gears. They turn with a slowness that defies physics, each tooth biting into the next with a sound like a bone breaking. You are not looking at the machinery. You are the machinery. You are the steel. You are the gear that grinds, that...
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