The Golden Ritual
The clockmaker’s hands, once steady as the pendulum of the great state house, now trembled like leaves in a sudden gust. His name was Arthur Penhaligon, and he had spent forty years in the shadow of the Crown, crafting the mechanisms that kept the monarch’s schedule precise, his power tangible. He was a man of gears and escapements, of mainsprings wound to the brink of breaking. In the old...
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