The Pale Altar

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2026-08-22 10:41:36 -

The Pale Altar

The fog in the district of Oakhaven did not merely hang in the air; it crawled, a viscous, gray sludge that smelled of sulfur and old copper. Elias Thorne stood before the Pale Altar, his breath pluming in the cold November air of 1893, watching the boundary line shimmer and distort. He was forty years old, a man of precise angles and rigid posture, and for twenty years he had been the...

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