The Golden Maze
The golden thread did not just glow; it hummed, a low, vibrating note that Elias Thorne felt in his teeth before he saw the light seep from the warp. He stood in the center of his Oakhaven workshop, the air thick with the scent of lanolin and old wool, the loom before him a skeleton of oak and iron that had outlived three generations of weavers. It was November, 1924, and the frost had already...
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