The Pale Fracture
The frost had not yet melted from the ledges of the Obsidian Tower when Elias Thorne began to bleed. It was a fine, steady weeping from the corners of his eyes, a clear fluid that smelled of ozone and old stone. He did not wipe it away. He was busy. In his hands, he held a shard of the Pale Fracture, a piece of the world’s broken heart that the Guild had assigned to him for polishing. The task...
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