The Golden Scar
The rain in the city did not wash things clean; it merely made the grime slicker, turning the cobblestones into black mirrors that reflected the soot of the factories and the pale, sickly glow of the streetlamps. Elara moved through the crowd like a stone through water, silent and heavy, her boots striking the wet pavement with a rhythm that matched the throbbing ache in her temples. She was...
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