The Golden Scar

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2026-08-19 19:55:02 -

The Golden Scar

The feast was not of food, but of light. It spilled from the glass windows of the Citadel, a blinding, liquid gold that poured down the steps and into the waiting crowd. Men and women stood in their grey, soot-stained coats, their faces upturned, drinking the radiance. It was warm. It was sweet. It tasted of copper and old blood. Thomas Ashworth stood at the edge of the light, his back to the...

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