The Pale Meridian

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 11:14:19 -

The Pale Meridian

The iron gate did not creak. It sighed. A low, wet exhalation of rust. Silas stood before it. His fingers were white. He gripped the bars. Cold bit into his palms. He had crossed the sea. He had buried his mother. He had sold his name for passage. And now he was here. In the city of Oakhaven. The air smelled of wet stone and old blood. He was a ghost in a living town. The locals looked through...

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