The Pale Tower

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2026-08-19 00:02:26 -

The Pale Tower

The rain in the valley did not fall; it hung, a grey curtain that smelled of wet iron and rotting peat. I stood at the edge of the moor, my boots sinking into the soft, black earth, watching the mist swallow the path home. My name is Elias Thorne, though I have not used it in three years. Here, in the hollows between the trees, I am simply the boy who carries the weight of his sister’s silence....

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