The Pale Exile

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2026-08-18 21:18:34 -

The Pale Exile

The banquet hall in the city of Aethelgard did not smell of food, but of wet stone and the metallic tang of old blood, a scent that seeped into the pores of every guest and clung to the velvet drapes like a persistent, invisible guest of its own. Julian Vane sat at the far end of the long oak table, his posture rigid, his fingers drumming a frantic, silent rhythm against the polished wood, a...

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