The Pale Bridge

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2026-08-21 11:44:04 -

The Pale Bridge

The feast was not held for the living, but for the memory of the living, and it stretched out beneath the vaulted stone of the Keep like a river of candlelight and rot. Thomas Bradshaw sat at the head of the long oak table, his armor polished to a mirror shine that reflected the flickering flames, yet he felt only a profound, bone-deep cold. He was the Warden, a title that had once carried the...

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