The Pale Garden
The tower stood. It did not breathe. It did not blink. It simply stood, a finger of stone pointing at the bruised sky, severed from the earth by the weight of centuries. I stood at its base. My hand trembled. Not from cold. From fear. I am Thomas. I am a clerk. I count ledgers. I ink columns. I do not climb. I do not fight. But I was here. I was here because of him. Because of Elias. Elias was...
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