The Golden Scar
The dream was always the same: a vast, circular chamber of black stone, the ceiling fractured by a single, jagged fissure through which pale, sickly light bled down into the dark. Elara Vane stood before the central pedestal, her hands pressed against the cold rock, listening to the whisper of names that had no mouths to speak them. She woke with the taste of dust in her mouth and the ache of...
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