The Pale Echo

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2026-08-17 12:57:10 -

The Pale Echo

The rain did not fall. It hovered. A fine, grey mist clung to the highland moors, turning the heather into a bruised purple smear against the slate sky. Elias Thorne stood by the gate of the keep. He held a lantern. It was not lit. He held it because he had to hold something. "You are late, Elias." The voice came from the shadows of the stone archway. It was cold. It was wet. "I know," Elias...

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