The Pale Exile
The rain fell in sheets, cold and relentless, turning the mud of the road into a slurry that sucked at their boots. Captain Elias Thorne walked in the front. Behind him, in a line that stretched back into the grey mist, were his men. They carried no packs. They carried no flags. They carried only the weight of the silence between them. Elias looked at the road ahead. It was empty. It had been...
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