The Pale Shadows

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2026-08-18 19:33:44 -

The Pale Shadows

The soup was thick. It smelled of beef and time, a heavy, industrial scent that coated the back of the throat. We sat in the mess hall of the Ironworks, a long table under flickering gas lamps. The air was still. My hands were wrapped in bandages. Not from an enemy’s blade, but from the friction of my own effort. I am a man who has spent twenty years swinging a hammer. My body is a tool. Tools...

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