The Golden Master
The old man said, "It is not yours to keep, boy. It is yours to lose." Elara stood in the center of the drafting room, her hands trembling as she held the heavy, cold weight of the brass astrolabe. The air in the workshop was thick with the scent of oil and old paper, a smell that had seeped into the fibers of her apron until it was indistinguishable from her own skin. Around her, the other...
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