The Golden Scar
The pill was warm. It tasted like copper and old rain. I swallowed it down the dry throat of the wasteland. My name is Elias. I am a thief. Or at least, I was, before the sky turned to ash. Now I am a vessel. A container for the thing that eats the world. My hands shook. Not from cold. The air was still, thick as syrup. I looked down at my palms. They were stained yellow. A faint, golden scar...
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