The Golden Scar
The heavy oak door of the Wardens’ Hall groaned under the weight of the city’s silence, a sound that felt less like wood shifting and more like a bone cracking under the pressure of centuries. You stood in the center of the room, the air thick with the scent of ozone and old dust, your eyes fixed on the small glass vial resting on the table before you, the liquid inside swirling with a pale,...
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