The Faded Dust
The gaslight in the assaying chamber of the Imperial Mint hissed with a sound like a dying snake, illuminating the fine, iridescent powder that hung suspended in the stagnant air, a living dust that Elias Thorne had learned to fear more than any man or machine. At forty years old, with twenty-two years of service etched into the tremor of his hands, Elias stood before the crucible, his fingers...
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