The Pale Tower
The mist in the Hollows does not rise; it accumulates, like a debt that no one dares to call in. You sit alone in the white stone chamber, the air thick with the scent of wet wool and old iron. It is a place that exists between the seconds, a pocket of silence stitched into the fabric of a world that is otherwise screaming. You are a soldier of the Order of the Silver Veil, though the title has...
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