The Golden Scar
The year was 2042, and the Spire of Aethelgard did not stand so much as it bled. Elias Thorne, forty-five years old and serving as the Chief Archivist for the Ministry of Structural Integrity, pressed his palm against the cold granite of the central atrium, feeling the viscous pulse of golden ichor seeping through the cracks in the stone. The fluid was warm, terrifyingly so, and as it touched...
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