The Pale Altar

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2026-08-20 06:00:11 -

The Pale Altar

The iron door of the mill did not so much open as it exhaled, a long, rusted groan that seemed to shake the dust from the rafters of the waiting room where Elias Thorne sat. He was a man made of angles and old scars, his hands resting on his knees like two heavy, broken tools. The room smelled of wet wool and stale tobacco, a scent that had seeped into the very plaster over the decades, but...

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