The Pale Mist

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2026-08-18 08:29:43 -

The Pale Mist

The fog rolls in thick. It smells of coal and wet iron. You stand at the gate of the Ironworks. The air is heavy. Your breath fogs. You are cold. The cold is inside you. You are a prisoner. Not of a cell. Of a debt. The ledger says so. The numbers are red. The numbers are final. You push through the gate. The gate groans. Rust flakes on your coat. You are Elias. You are a man who has failed....

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