The Pale Exile

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2026-08-20 19:48:54 -

The Pale Exile

The rain on the tin roof of the outpost sounded like a thousand small bones breaking, a rhythmic, wet percussion that had become the only clock you knew how to read. You sat by the dying fire, the leather of your boots stiff with cold and old mud, and watched the embers pulse with a life that seemed impossibly fragile against the vast, grey indifference of the night. Outside, the moor stretched...

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