The Pale Dance
The frost does not just settle on the gate; it shatters it. You feel the crack before you see it. A sharp, high-pitched snap that runs through the iron mesh, vibrating up through the soles of your boots, into the marrow of your shins. The Great Gate of the Citadel, a structure of ancient, unyielding black metal that has stood for three centuries, breaks. Not from a blow. Not from a siege. It...
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