The Faded Shield
The iron breathes, and you feel it in the marrow of your shins, a rhythmic, bone-deep pulse that matches the thumping of your own heart so perfectly that for a dizzying second you cannot tell where your blood ends and the machine begins. You stand before the new steam regulator, the massive cast-iron heart of the Blackwood Foundry, its surface slick with condensation and the faint, oily sheen...
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