The Golden Cellar
The dampness in the Blackwood Ironworks did not just sit on the walls; it breathed. It was a living, grey thing that seeped into the marrow of the men who worked the foundry, a constant reminder that the earth was hungry and the machines were hungry, and that they were merely the fuel that kept the gears turning. Elias Thorne knew this. He had known it since the day he first stepped across the...
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