The Golden Scar
"Did you receive the form?" The question hung in the air of the train carriage, stale as the coffee in the tin cup the woman across the aisle had been nursing for an hour. Elara did not answer. She sat rigid, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes fixed on the rhythmic blur of the fields outside the window. The year was the Iron Sun, the third year of the Ministry’s consolidation, and the air in...
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