The Golden Song
The lead came was cold against Elias Vane’s thumb as he pressed the solder, the heat bleeding out into the dark pane of blue glass. He was twelve years old, and his hands were stained with the grey residue of flux, a permanent map of his labor etched into the whorls of his fingerprints. The Great Hall of Lord Kael’s manor was not merely a room; it was a ledger of stone and light, and Elias...
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