The Pale Exile

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2026-08-17 18:41:17 -

The Pale Exile

The ink on the parchment was not black, but a bruised violet that seemed to shift in the candlelight, like a living thing. Thomas sat at the heavy oak table in the center of the hall, his small hands trembling not from fear, but from the sheer weight of the expectation placed upon him. He was twelve years old, thin as a reed, with eyes the color of the river outside the manor window. Before him...

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