The Pale Altar
The mist in Aethelgard did not rise; it pooled, a cold, grey liquid that seeped into the joints of the stone cottage and settled in the lungs of the living. Elias Thorne woke to the silence, a silence so heavy it felt like a physical weight pressing against his chest, and the absence of the warmth beside him was the first thing he noticed, sharper than the chill that bit through his thin wool...
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