The Golden Scar
The dream was always the same, a recurring architecture of light and iron that Thomas Whitmore had ceased to question after the first year in the Hollow. It began in a field of dry wheat, under a sun that did not move but burned with a static, golden heat. In the center of the field stood a structure, not quite a house, not quite a tower, but a place where the earth seemed to have folded up and...
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