The Pale Altar

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2026-08-22 03:14:20 -

The Pale Altar

The stone sat on the marble table, cold and pale as a bone. Elias Thorne stared at it, his hands trembling not from fear, but from the sheer weight of what it held. He was a sergeant, thirty-two years old, with twenty years of service in the Crown’s Guard. His daughter, Clara, lay in a fever in the palace infirmary, her breath shallow and rattling. The doctors said she had days. Thorne believed...

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