The Golden Scar
The cellar smelled of wet stone and old iron, a scent that seemed to settle into the marrow of the boy’s bones before he could even register the cold. Thomas stood in the center of the circular room, his bare feet pressing against the damp flagstones, his eyes fixed on the strange, pulsing light that emanated from the central pillar. It was not a fire, nor was it any electric lamp he had seen...
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