The Pale Protocol
The seal broke. You felt it in your teeth. A vibration, low and wrong, humming through the stone floor of the keep. The air tasted of ozone and old blood. You were a Sentinel. Your armor was not steel, but woven silence. It was heavy. It was yours. You stood before the Gate of Ash. Beyond it, the world was white. Not snow-white. Not light-white. A white that ate sound. A white that erased...
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