The Pale Exile

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2026-08-19 12:07:03 -

The Pale Exile

The banquet hall in the Obsidian Spire smelled of roasted pheasant and old sweat, a cloying mixture that sat heavy in the throat. I sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, my uniform pressed and stiff, the brass buttons catching the light of the chandeliers that hung like frozen tears. Around me, the other officers laughed, their voices echoing off the vaulted ceilings, a sound like dry...

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