The Pale Altar

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2026-08-19 18:07:02 -

The Pale Altar

The dream began, as it always did, with the smell of wet iron and the sound of a clock that ticked backward. Silas Wren stood in the center of a vast, circular plaza paved with stones the color of bruised plums. The sky above was not a sky at all, but a ceiling of swirling, pale mist that seemed to breathe in slow, rhythmic pulses. It was a place where the laws of physics had surrendered to the...

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