The Pale Fracture
The sky over the valley of Oakhaven did not break so much as it peeled away, a flaking varnish on a table that had been left in the sun too long, revealing the raw, splintered wood of the atmosphere beneath. It was a Tuesday in late October, the kind of day where the light hangs low and heavy, turning the maple leaves into sheets of tarnished copper, and old Sergeant Elias Thorne stood at the...
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