The Pale Exile

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2026-08-22 09:13:04 -

The Pale Exile

The air tasted of iron and old rain. Miles stood in the center of the room. It was not a room. It was a hollow space carved from the living stone of a mountain that had forgotten its name. The ceiling was high, lost in a mist that clung to the beams like wet wool. There was no door. There was only the stone, and the cold, and the thing in his hands. It was a glass sphere. Small. No larger than...

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