The Golden Oath
The sub-basement of the Blackwood Ironworks was a place where light died and the air tasted of rust and cold iron, a cavernous throat where the machinery of the empire ground its teeth against the bedrock. Dr. Elias Thorne, forty years old and hollowed by the winter of 1912, stood alone in the center of this industrial void, his fingers wrapped tightly around a brass caliper that hummed with a...
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