The Golden Oath
The piston of the hydraulic press did not move with the smooth, oily grace of steam power, but with a dry, grinding shudder that vibrated through the soles of Elias Thorne’s boots and up into his teeth. He stood before the massive iron beast, his hands gripping the control lever, waiting for the hiss of the boiler that never came. The workshop was a tomb of heat, the air thick with the smell of...
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