The Pale Protocol
The city of Aethelgard did not sleep, for it had no night, only a perpetual twilight of grey mist that tasted of iron and old ash, and you stood at the center of it, your armor dented and weeping rust, your sword dull with the blood of men who had forgotten their own names. You are the Keeper, the last of the order that swore to hold the Pale Protocol, a chain of words etched into the bone of...
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