The Golden Oath
The feast hall of the Meridian Industrial Complex was a cathedral of steel and glass, sealed against the world outside, where the air tasted of ozone and stale yeast. Elias Thorne stood before the central table, his hands trembling as he arranged the final garnish of dried rosemary on the Golden Loaf. He was thirty-two years old, a baker of modest talent but immense ambition, and he wanted only...
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