The Golden Scar
The dream was always the same, a recurring fever of gold and silence that Elias Thorne endured with the weary resignation of a man who had long since stopped fighting the ghosts of his own making. In the dream, his father’s hands were not flesh but a solid, gleaming alloy, the fingers fused together in a permanent grip, the knuckles swollen with a metallic sheen that caught the light of a sun...
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