The Pale Exile

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2026-08-18 21:29:51 -

The Pale Exile

The axe bit deep. I did not flinch. The blood that ran down my forearms was red, but the mist rising from the felled oak was white. It swirled around my ankles like a living thing. I was the King’s carver. I was also his son. The distinction mattered less than the wood. The wood screamed as it split. I knew the sound. I had heard it in my dreams for years. "Stop," the King said. His voice was...

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