The Golden Scar
The wind did not howl across the salt flats; it scraped, a dry, abrasive sound like sandpaper dragged across bare skin, and it was this sound that Elias Thorne heard before he heard the voice calling his name from the grey haze. He stood alone in the center of the white expanse, his boots sinking into the crusted crust of the earth, the weight of his service rifle heavy in his hands as he...
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