The Golden Echoes
The chandelier above the Guild Hall’s long oak table swung with a pendulum-like regularity, its crystal pendants catching the candlelight and scattering it across the faces of the masters in sharp, staccato bursts of gold. Elias Thorne stood at the head of the table, his hands resting on the polished wood, steady as the escapement he had just been praised for. He was forty years old, a master...
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