The Golden Scar
The summons came not as a shout, but as a whisper that seemed to scrape against the inside of Elias’s skull, though the chamber was silent save for the scratching of quills. "Elias," the Steward said, his voice flat and dry as old parchment. "The King requires the final draft." Elias did not look up from the ledger he was balancing, a task he had performed for five years in the shadow of the...
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