The Golden Scar
The chisel struck the stone with a sound like a breaking bone, and Elias did not flinch, nor did he look away from the gray, ash-like substance that was currently eating the tendons of his left hand. He was thirty years old, a scribe of the Iron Citadel, and he had spent the last decade in the shadow of the High Warden’s approval, a man who believed that if he could just carve deep enough, if...
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