The Golden Scar
The press was screaming, a metallic shriek that tore through the humid air of the foundry, a sound so piercing and violent that it seemed to vibrate not just in the ears but in the marrow of the bones, a continuous, high-pitched wail of iron under stress that drowned out the lower grumbling of the pistons and the rhythmic, heavy thud of the drop hammers. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the...
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