The Golden Scar
The ink was fading. It happened slowly. A slow bleed into the parchment. The black lines grew thin. Then gray. Then white. Elias sat by the fire. The wood popped. Sparks flew. They died on the stone floor. He held the scroll. It was his life’s work. A map. Or a law. Or a curse. He could not remember. He only knew the letters. They were marks. Symbols. He traced the first word. *Truth*. The ink...
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