The Golden Scar
The iron door of the throne room was already open, and the cold air rushed in like a living thing, biting at the exposed skin of your neck. You stood in the center of the flagstones, your hand pressed flat against your chest, feeling the jagged ridge of the Golden Scar pulse beneath the wool of your tunic. It beat faster than your own heart, a hot, rhythmic thud that vibrated up your arm and...
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