The Pale Circus

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2026-08-18 16:22:52 -

The Pale Circus

The morning air in the valley of the White River smelled of wet stone and old iron. Silas Vance woke with the stiffness of a man who had slept in a saddle, his joints grinding like rusted hinges. He was a Warden of the Crown, a title that meant little to the peasants and everything to the King, yet here, in the mist-choked wilds beyond the law, he was simply a shadow with a sword. Beside him,...

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