The Pale Tower
The discrepancy was not in the brass, but in the ink. Elias Thorne sat in the dim light of his workshop, the air thick with the smell of machine oil and stale tea, staring at the schematic he had drafted three years prior. The gear ratios for the Grand Tower’s astronomical engine, a mechanism designed to predict the movements of the heavens with such precision that it could dictate the planting...
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