The Golden Scar
The ink was still wet on the ledger, a dark, viscous smear that smelled of iron and dried blood, when Elias Thorne felt the first sharp crack in the sky. He did not look up. He was too busy calculating the weight of the silence in the room, a heavy, physical thing that pressed against his eardrums and settled in the hollow of his chest. Outside the high, arched windows of the Archivist’s...
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