The Golden Compass
The fire started at the root of the world. I felt it before I saw it. A vibration in the soles of my boots, a hum in the marrow of my shins. Then the smoke. Black, thick, smelling of sulfur and burnt hair. It rolled over the hillside, swallowing the sky, erasing the horizon. I ran. My name is Elias Thorne. I am a man of numbers. I count bolts. I measure tension. I calculate load-bearing...
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