The Golden Scar
The brass gears of the Grand Regulator did not tick so much as they breathed, a slow, metallic respiration that filled the vaulted chamber of the Ministry of Time with the scent of ozone and old dust, and you, Elias Thorne, stood before the central mechanism with your hands trembling not from the cold but from the sudden, terrifying realization that the machine was not broken, but starving. You...
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