The Pale Fracture
The road to the city of Aethelgard is not paved with stone, but with the compressed ash of forgotten wars, a gray powder that clings to your boots and settles in the creases of your face like a second skin. You have walked for three days, the sun beating down on your neck with the indifference of a god who has long since ceased to care for the mortals below, and the air tastes of metallic dust...
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