The Pale Exile

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2026-08-20 11:36:18 -

The Pale Exile

The rain did not fall. It hovered. It hung in the air of the observation deck, a fine, cold mist that smelled of ozone and old pennies. Elias stood at the railing, his hands white-knuckled against the cold steel. He wore his uniform, the blue tunic pressed tight across his shoulders, the brass buttons catching the dim, artificial light. He looked like a statue. He looked like a man waiting for...

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