The Golden Scar
The iron taste of blood coats your tongue as the first blow lands, a heavy, dull thud that vibrates through the brittle architecture of your jaw and settles deep into the marrow of your skull. You are on your knees in the damp, mossy courtyard of the High Spire, the stone slick with rain and the lingering residue of a conflict that has lasted for days, or perhaps centuries, the timeline blurred...
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