The Pale Mist

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2026-08-20 05:33:41 -

The Pale Mist

The rain did not fall. It hovered. Elias stood at the edge of the cliff, his boots sinking into the soft, grey moss that covered the rock. The mist was thick, a living thing that pressed against his skin. It smelled of iron and old blood. "Is it real?" he asked. The voice came from behind him. It was rough, scraped raw by years of shouting into the void. "Touch it," the man said. "If you bleed,...

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