The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-22 02:30:52 -

The mist at the Ashen Gate did not drift; it breathed, a slow, rhythmic expansion and contraction that smelled of wet chalk and old blood, and I stood at the threshold of the holding cell, my hand hovering in the air, trembling with a force that had nothing to do with the cold. I was Silas Vane, warden of the outer perimeter, forty-two years old, and I had served this gate for twenty years,...

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