The Golden Scar
The dust did not settle, it hung, a thick, golden particulate that coated the back of our throats and turned the air into a gritty, unbreathable paste that tasted of copper and old blood, and I stood there in the center of the shattered corridor of the Ministry of Reclamation, my uniform torn at the shoulder, the fabric damp with sweat that had long since turned cold, watching as the massive,...
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