The Golden Scar
The chalice was whole in the dream, but it was not golden. It was the color of old blood, and when Elias Thorne reached for it, the rim crumbled into dust that tasted of copper. He woke in the sterile white room of the State Archive, the fog pressing against the high windows like a living thing, and the first thing he could not remember was the sound of his sister’s laugh. He sat up, his hands...
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