The Golden Oath
The rust is bleeding again. You wipe it from the brass rim of the Grand Oath with a rag that is already black with the stain. It does not stop. The clock ticks backward, a soft, sickening click against the silence of the Palace of Time. You are Elias Thorne, fifty-two, and you have spent thirty years keeping this place alive. You want to finish the mechanism. You want to bind the palace’s aging...
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