The Pale Path
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the lower district into a slick, black mirror that reflected nothing but the gray sky. Elias stood at the edge of the canal, his boots soaking through, watching the water churn with a slow, oily rhythm. He was a man who spoke to things that did not speak back, a listener to the quiet hum of the world’s hidden machinery. In...
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