The Pale Door
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the red clay of the lowlands into a sucking, viscous mire that swallowed the boots of the men of the Ninth Legion until they were knee-deep in the sludge of their own misery. Caelen stood alone at the edge of the camp, his back to the flickering, smoke-choked fires that marked the perimeter of order, while the dark forest loomed on the other side...
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