The Golden Scar
The letter lay on the oak table, its edges curled like a dried leaf. It bore the seal of the Ministry of Records, a heavy stamp of black ink that seemed to bleed into the paper even after the wax had set. Elias Thorne did not open it immediately. He held it in his trembling hands, feeling the weight of the parchment against his palms, a weight that felt less like paper and more like lead. The...
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