The Golden Scar
The low hum of the Citadel was not a sound so much as a pressure, a physical weight that settled behind the eyes and in the marrow of the bones. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood at attention in the central courtyard, his uniform straining against the rigid plates of gold that had begun to bloom across his forearms and jaw, a slow calcification that the Iron Guard called the Blessing but which felt,...
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