The Golden Scar
The nutrient paste tasted of copper and wet ash. I swallowed it down, my throat constricting as the mandated sludge hit my stomach, a thick, gray mud that promised sustenance but delivered only compliance. My name is Elias Thorne, and I am forty-two years old, a linguist of the Ashen Dominion, though the title is a hollow shell now, stripped of its academic weight by the state’s relentless...
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