The Pale Bridge
The iron gate shudders, a groan of tortured metal that vibrates up through the soles of your boots and settles deep in the marrow of your shins, and you know, with the cold, detached certainty of a man who has counted his own heartbeats through a dozen sieges, that the breach has begun not with a battering ram but with a whisper of structural failure, a sigh from the ancient stone that has held...
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