The Golden Oath
The ledger recorded four hundred and twelve cuts, a number that felt less like an accounting and more like a toll. Elias Thorne ran his thumb over the edge of the chisel, the steel cold and slick with a substance that was not sweat, and watched the black ichor seep from the limestone block. It smelled of wet earth and old iron, a scent that clung to the back of his throat no matter how much he...
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