The Golden Scar
The knife in Elias’s hand was steady, cutting through a slice of roasted pheasant that looked less like meat and more like compressed ash. He watched the juice run onto the white porcelain, a dark vein spreading across the clean surface. Around him, the High Council feasted in a hall of polished obsidian and glass, the air thick with the scent of roasted garlic and something sweeter, cloying,...
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