The Pale Door
The mist in the valley of Aethelgard did not behave like weather; it behaved like a memory, thick and silent, swallowing the stone spire that rose from the center of the lake. Kaelen stood at the water’s edge, his boots sinking into the mud, watching the white fog swirl around the base of the tower. He was thirty years old, a ranger who had spent two decades tracking beasts and bandits, but he...
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