The Golden Scar
The sky over the valley of Ashenmoor did not fall; it collapsed, a heavy, bruised thing of purple and black that slammed into the earth with a sound like tearing canvas. It was not rain. It was not snow. It was a thick, grey sludge that smelled of iron and old blood, pouring down in sheets that turned the mud into a churning soup. Caelen stood at the edge of the treeline, his boots sinking into...
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