The Pale Shadows
The old man sat by the fire, his eyes fixed on the embers as if they held the secrets of the universe, and I stood in the doorway, my hands trembling not from the cold but from the terrible weight of what I had seen and what I was about to say. He was the Keeper of the Gate, a title that sounded grand in the legends but was in reality a job of endless, quiet suffering, and he looked at me with...
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