The Golden Scar
March 14, 2041. I woke with the taste of copper and ozone on my tongue, the same metallic tang that always follows the dream, where a line of gold splits the grey horizon like a wound that refuses to close. It is not a boundary in the dream, but a fracture, and I find myself standing on the wrong side of it, watching the light pour through the gap like liquid fire. I am Elias Thorne, a border...
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