The Golden Scar
The gold bar lay in Elias’s palm, heavy and dull, its surface pitted with the sweat of his hands. It was a slab of impure metal, worth a small fortune to the Abbey’s treasury, yet it held no more power than a horseshoe. He turned it over, watching the light catch the jagged edge where the hammer had struck true, then false, then true again. Outside the forge door, the wind moaned through the...
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