The Golden Cellar
The chardonnay in Elias Thorne’s glass tasted of copper and old dust. He stood in the center of the gilded mess hall, the crystal decanter sweating in his hand, watching the bubbles rise in a slow, deliberate procession. Around him, the officers of the Blackwood Barracks toasted his promotion to Archivist of the Subterranean Repository, a title that carried more weight than rank. They smiled...
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