The Golden Oath
The steam from the Blackwood foundry does not rise so much as it hangs, a thick, sulfurous fog that smells of iron and burnt hair. You step off the train, your boots sinking into the soot-stained gravel, and the air hits your lungs like a physical blow, heavy with the taste of copper and old blood. You are Elias Thorne, forty years old, a man who has spent his life chasing the ghost of a dead...
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