The Pale Exile
The rain had not stopped for three days, and it fell not upon the ground but upon the stone walls of the great hall, a constant, cold hiss that sounded like the breathing of something ancient and buried, and in that damp, echoing silence, Captain Elias Thorne stood with his back to the throne, his shoulders rigid under the heavy wool of his tunic, holding the sword that had been his father’s...
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