The Pale Tower
The fog did not roll in so much as it rose from the wet gravel of the approach, a thick, grey shroud that erased the horizon and turned the world into a series of diminishing circles of visibility. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the clearing, his breath pluming in the cold October air, and watched the silhouette of the Spire emerge from the mist. It was a structure of brutal, vertical...
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