The Distant Legend
The iron foundry in Blackwood burned with a light that seemed less like fire and more like the glow of a dying star trapped in a bottle. It was a light that had no warmth, only a cold, industrial persistence that seeped into the marrow of every man who worked within its walls. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the main casting floor, his hands resting on the cold railing, watching the molten...
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