The Pale Door

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2026-08-21 12:01:28 -

The Pale Door

The fog did not lift. It thickened, a grey wool spun by unseen hands, wrapping the cobblestones of the lower district in a shroud that smelled of coal dust and wet iron. Silas Vane stood before the gate, his uniform damp, the brass buttons cold against the wool. He was a man carved from the same material as the city’s architecture, sharp and unyielding, yet eroded by time and salt air. His name...

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