The Pale Verdict
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a fine, gray mist that settled into the pores of everything it touched, eroding the sharp edges of the world until only the soft, yielding center remained. Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the treeline, his boots sinking into the mud that had long since given up the pretense of being soil. He was a man carved from the same weathered stone as...
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