The Golden Scar
The ledger in Silas Vane’s hand weighed exactly three ounces, a precise burden for a man who had spent thirty years weighing souls against the law. He stood in the antechamber of the Iron Citadel, counting the hours until his shift ended, his fingers tracing the cold, iron-rimmed page where the names of the Corrupted were listed in ink that smelled of rust and old blood. The Citadel breathed...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews