The Pale Exile

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2026-08-19 02:36:27 -

The Pale Exile

The fog did not lift. It thickened. It pressed against the windowpanes of the watchtower like a living thing, a white lung breathing against the glass. Elias stood alone in the high chair, his back straight, his hands resting on the hilt of the sword that had not seen battle in thirty years. The steel was cold. The air was colder. Below, in the town square, the people moved with the sluggish...

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