The Wistful Voyage
The iron tasted of rust and old blood in Elias Thorne’s mouth as he kicked in the door of the abandoned foundry, his boots striking the cold concrete with a sharp, finality that echoed through the vast, hollow space. It was November of 1912, and the air in the industrial district of Ashworth was thick with the soot of a city that had forgotten how to breathe. Elias, thirty-four years old and...
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