The Golden Master
The Silence has settled over Oakhaven like a heavy wool blanket, muffling the sound of the wind against the thatch. You are Elias, forty-two years old, and your hands are steady, though your joints ache with a stiffness that has nothing to do with the cold. For three days, the Golden Master has not ticked. It sits in the center of your workshop, a towering automaton of brass and oak, its chest...
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