The Pale Door
The gate to the Underworld was not a door, but a seam in the air, vibrating with a low, subsonic hum that made the teeth ache. Elias stood before it, his boots sinking slightly into the grey dust of the antechamber. He was forty-six, but in this place, age was a weight that pressed down on his shoulders, a physical burden of years spent in the service of a duty that no one else understood. His...
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