The Pale Altar
The road was a ribbon of gray dirt cutting through the heath. It did not look like a place where people lived. It looked like a place where things were forgotten. Kael drove the truck. The engine hummed a low, tired note. He had been driving for six hours. His hands were wrapped around the wheel. The leather was worn smooth by his grip. He was not a man who spoke much. He was a man who did what...
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