The Pale Path
The iron gates of the keep did not scream when they fell, but groaned, a low and tectonic shudder that vibrated through the soles of the guards’ boots and into the marrow of their bones. It was a sound of ancient stone surrendering to the weight of the night, a final exhalation of a structure that had stood for three hundred years. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the center of the courtyard, his...
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