The Pale Tower
The rain fell on the ridge with the persistence of a debt that could never be repaid, turning the red clay into a slick, breathing mirror of the bruised sky above. Elias Thorne walked with the heavy, rhythmic tread of a man who had long since ceased to view his own body as anything more than a vehicle for suffering, his boots sinking into the mud with a sound that was less a splash and more a...
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