The Pale Shadows
The fire did not begin with a spark, but with a silence so profound it seemed to crack the very stones of the keep. It was a silence that tasted of ash and old iron, a heavy, suffocating quiet that settled over the valley of Aethelgard like a shroud of grey wool. In the high tower, where the wind howled through the arrow slits with a voice like grinding bones, Lord Malacor stood before a mirror...
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