The Golden Scar
The first thing you forget is the sound of your own voice. It slips away like water through cracked fingers, leaving only a dry, hollow echo in the back of your throat. You are Elias Thorne, though the name feels less like a label and more like a heavy coat you are trying to shed. You are thirty-four years old, an archivist in the lower districts of Ostra, a city built from gray stone and gray...
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