The Pale Verdict
The dream began not with light, but with the weight of iron, a cold, unyielding pressure that settled into your marrow as if it had been there since the first breath you ever drew. You stood in the center of the great hall, a place where the air tasted of stale incense and old blood, the stone floor beneath your boots humming with a low, subterranean vibration that matched the rhythm of your...
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