The Golden Master
The fog in Blackwood did not merely obscure the view; it settled into the pores of the skin, a damp, silvery membrane that tasted of copper and old rust. Elias, twelve years old and possessed of a mind that dissected the world into gears and levers, stood before the Golden Master, the towering clockwork automaton that dominated the center of the ancestral estate’s great hall. The machine was a...
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