The Pale Mist

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2026-08-20 18:57:30 -

The Pale Mist

The morning fog clung to the cobblestones of the Blackwater Barracks, a thick, wet grey that smelled of wet wool and old iron. It was not a natural fog, not in the way that mist rises from the river at dawn to clear by noon. This was a substance. It pooled in the gutters, it seeped under the heavy oak doors of the Watchhouse, and it settled into the bones of the men who stood guard. Seraphina...

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