The Pale Fracture

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2026-08-19 09:09:02 -

The Pale Fracture

I woke with the taste of iron and ash on my tongue. The air in the Hall of Records was cold. It smelled of damp stone and old parchment. I sat up. The floor was made of black slate. It stretched out into the dark. I was alone. Or so it seemed. Thomas stood at the far end of the room. He wore the grey robe of a Senior Archivist. His face was pale. His eyes were red. He held a small box in his...

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