The Golden Oath
"Is it working, Eli?" Elias did not look up from the bench. His hands, stained black with machine oil, were deep inside the brass ribcage of the automaton. The metal was warm, vibrating with a low, rhythmic hum that seemed to come from the bones of the room itself. "It is winding," Elias said. His voice was rough, scraped raw by the dry air of the workshop. "The gear needs to settle. It has to...
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