The Golden Scar
The order lay on the steel table, its edges sharp enough to cut the light, and I read the fine print that detailed the specific grade of treason for which I was to be held, a crime against the Purity of the Script that carried a weight heavier than the iron bars surrounding me. My name, Silas Vane, was printed in the standard bureaucratic font, cold and impersonal, stripping away the years I...
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