The Pale Mist

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2026-08-18 13:47:02 -

The Pale Mist

The air in the Grand Hall of the Citadel of Aethelgard did not smell of stone or sweat, but of ozone and the sharp, metallic tang of old blood, a scent that clung to the back of Elias Thorne’s throat like a second skin. He sat at the high table, surrounded by the shimmering, translucent figures of the Court of Whispers, entities who had no bones, only the memory of bones, and who spoke in...

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