The Golden Oath
The air in the Foundry District did not merely smell of sulfur and hot iron; it tasted of it, a metallic tang that coated the back of the throat and settled into the lungs like fine, abrasive dust. It was the year 1893, and the city of Oakhaven was a beast of steam and soot, a sprawling industrial colossus that breathed in coal and exhaled gray clouds that choked the sun for days on end. In the...
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