The Pale Tower
The iron gates of the Obsidian Citadel did not open with a creak but with a heavy, resonant thud that seemed to vibrate through the soles of Thomas Bradshaw’s boots, a physical reminder of the weight of the world he had sworn to protect for forty years, a duty that had calcified into his very bones until the distinction between the man and the uniform had long since dissolved, leaving only a...
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