The Golden Scar
The rain did not fall so much as it was exhaled by the sky, a cold, wet breath that settled over the capital like a shroud. Elias Vane stood alone in the center of the Grand Hall, his back to the towering arches that held up the weight of a nation’s silence. He was a man carved from the same stone as the pillars, broad-shouldered and stoic, his uniform immaculate despite the damp that seeped...
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