The Golden Scar
The ink on the forearm of Elias Thorne did not fade, though the years had stripped the rest of his body of its vitality, turning his skin to parchment and his hands to gnarled roots that could no longer grip the hilt of his sword with the precision required by the old codes. It was a brand of black, soot-dark and permanent, a geometric sigil that spiraled inward toward his elbow like a storm...
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