The Golden Scar
The rune in your hand is heavy, a slab of obsidian no larger than a man’s thumb, yet it weighs as much as the winter that is currently breaking against the shutters of the watchtower. You are Caelen, the last Warden of the Glyphs, and you have held this stone for three days without sleep, watching the ink bleed from its fractured center into the creases of your palm. The village of Aethelgard...
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