The Golden Scar
You sit in the damp, stone-walled archive, the air thick with the scent of rotting vellum and the metallic tang of old ink, a smell that has become so familiar to you that it tastes like copper on your tongue, a constant reminder of the blood you have spilled in the service of this institution. The year is one of the later centuries of the Meridian State, a time when the sky above the city is...
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