The Golden Scar
The ink is moving. It crawls across the parchment like a living thing, black veins pulsing beneath the surface of the Golden Scar. You are Elias, forty-two, Senior Archivist of the Citadel, and you are standing in the Regent’s throne room with your hands shaking so badly you can barely hold the map. The air smells of stale incense and fear. The Regent sits high above you, his face a mask of...
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