The Pale Protocol
The vial of distilled moonlight sat on the obsidian workbench, its contents a viscous, pearlescent fluid that seemed to absorb the dim glow of the singular candle burning in the corner, creating a sphere of absolute, terrifying clarity that defied the murky, smog-choked reality of the city outside. Elias Thorne, a man whose hands were permanently stained with the indigo residue of alchemical...
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