The Pale Exile

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2026-08-19 22:07:50 -

The Pale Exile

The rain hit the cobblestones like a drumroll. Sergeant Elias Thorne wiped blood from his lip. It was not his own. It was thick. It tasted of copper. He stood in the center of the throne room. The floor was slick. The air was cold. Around him, the guards held their halberds. They did not move. They watched. Elias gripped the hilt of his sword. His knuckles were white. He was the King’s right...

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