The Golden Master
The glass is cracked, Elias, and you know the law. The words hung in the air of the smithy, sharp as the chisel striking the anvil, before the silence rushed back in to fill the space. Elias did not look up from the iron he was shaping, the hammer resting for a fraction of a second against his palm, the muscle in his forearm tight and aching from hours of rhythmic labor. The forge roared behind...
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