The Pale Path

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2026-08-21 20:50:22 -

The Pale Path

The barracks smelled of wet wool and stale coffee. It was a smell that had seeped into the very mortar of the stone walls, a testament to decades of men who had come and gone, leaving only their ghosts in the corners. Silas Thorne stood by the window, watching the rain streak the glass in long, erratic lines. He was a man of few words, his face a map of lines drawn by wind and worry. His hands,...

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