The Faded Sutra
Elias Vane woke with the taste of iron and wet ash in his mouth, a metallic tang that coated his tongue and lingered in the back of his throat, a physical reminder of the violence he had left behind, or perhaps the violence that had left him, the distinction having blurred into a single, unbroken continuum of suffering. He lay in the narrow cot of a field hospital that smelled of antiseptic and...
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