The Wistful Dinner
The rain lashed against the single pane of Elias Thorne’s workshop window, a relentless drumming that masked the tick of the chronometer on his workbench. It was a masterwork of brass and glass, a relic of his father’s hands, and it was the only thing standing between Elias and the Guild’s final, crushing decree. The statute was clear: heirloom work could only be certified by pure artisans, a...
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