The Pale Garden

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2026-08-21 18:47:38 -

The Pale Garden

The cart wheels groaned against the stone. Dust rose in thick, pale columns. Silas wiped his brow. The heat was a physical weight. It pressed against his skin. He was a man of trade. A merchant of small, useful things. Clock springs. Glass lenses. Silver needles. He did not sell wonder. He sold function. The road ended at the Gate. It stood alone in the fields. No village nearby. No smoke. Just...

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