The Pale Altar

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2026-08-22 12:47:02 -

The Pale Altar

The rain in the year 1342 did not wash the city clean; it merely turned the mud into a slurry that clung to the hem of Elias’s tunic, a constant, cold reminder of the scribe’s lowly station. He stood before the heavy oak doors of the Duke’s private scriptorium, his hands trembling not from the chill of the autumn air, but from the weight of the debt he owed. For three years, Elias had been...

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