The Pale Altar

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2026-08-18 17:25:54 -

The Pale Altar

The light in the Hall of Echoes did not come from the sun, but from the dust motes themselves, swirling in a slow, eternal vortex that smelled of ozone and old parchment. Elias sat on a stool carved from a single block of obsidian, his fingers drumming a rhythm against his knee that matched the low, thrumming vibration of the floor. He was waiting. He had been waiting for forty years, or...

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