The Pale Fracture
The iron gate of the Citadel of Aethelgard groaned open, a sound like the weeping of a dying god, admitting Captain Elias Thorne into the heart of the regime. The air inside was thick with the scent of ozone and old blood, a metallic tang that coated the back of his throat. Elias moved with the deliberate, heavy grace of a man whose joints had been fused by the cold. He was a creature of...
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