The Golden Scar
The dream came to Silas not as a vision but as a smell, thick and cloying, the scent of rotting orchards mixed with the sharp, metallic tang of fresh iron, a scent that permeated the thin walls of his cell in the lower levels of the Citadel, a place where the air was so stale it felt less like atmosphere and more like a solid substance he had to chew and swallow to breathe, and in that dream he...
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