The Pale Mist

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2026-08-18 02:52:45 -

The Pale Mist

The seal is still warm in your hand. You dream of fire first. Not the gentle kind that warms hearths, but the hungry, white-burning flame that eats stone. In the dream, you are small. You are kneeling in the dirt before the high altar of the Citadel. The air tastes of ash and iron. You hold the Sigil. It is a heavy disc of black iron, cold as a grave, etched with the spiral of the Old Kings....

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