The Golden Scar
The parchment wept gold. It was a thin, viscous line that had begun to form at the margin of the *Codex Aeterna* three days prior, a scar that pulsed with a faint, rhythmic heat against Elias Thorne’s fingertips. He sat in the scriptorium, the air thick with the smell of oak gall and drying ink, and watched the line spread, a vein of liquid light cutting through the vellum. Elias was forty...
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