The Pale Echo
The fire had eaten the roof before you found your boots. You stood in the center of the atrium, the heat a physical weight against your chest, the air thick with the scent of charred oak and old dust. It was not a fire, not truly. Or rather, it was a fire, but one that did not obey the laws of combustion. It moved like water, rising in spirals of blue and white, whispering in a voice that...
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