The Pale Door
The hall was not built for the living, but for the accumulation of silence. It stretched out beneath a vaulted ceiling of darkened oak, where the air hung heavy with the scent of beeswax and old stone. This was the Athenaeum of the High Council, a place where the laws of reality were not merely debated but enforced by those who understood the architecture of the soul. In the center of the room,...
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