The Pale Protocol
The parchment is wet, not with rain, but with the salted sweat of your palms, and the ink blots like a dark bruise spreading across the vellum of your own history. You are standing in the center of the Great Hall of King Aldric’s court, a space so vast that the sound of your own breathing seems to be stolen away by the high, vaulted ceilings, leaving you suspended in a silence that is heavy...
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