The Golden Quest
Thorne. The name was not spoken, but felt, a vibration in the concrete floor of the Blackwood Mill cellar that traveled up through the soles of Elias Thorne’s boots and into the marrow of his shins. He stood before the central conveyor belt, his hands resting on the cold, iron railing, watching the faint, persistent luminescence that traced the path of the moving machinery. To anyone else, it...
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