The Pale Path
The iron gates of the Citadel of Aethelgard did not creak, for they were forged from a silence so dense it swallowed the sound of the wind before it could pass through, and I stood before them with my back against the cold, unforgiving stone, feeling the weight of the century’s breath pressing down upon my shoulders until the air itself seemed to solidify into a wall of gray dust and...
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