The Pale Path
The stone-paved expanse of the Grand Plaza in Aethelgard hummed with a low, subterranean vibration that Elias Thorne felt not in his feet, but in the trembling joints of his fingers. He stood at the edge of the cobbled thoroughfare, the morning mist clinging to his coat like a damp shroud, clutching a pale silk scarf that had once been Clara’s, now frayed and nearly transparent from years of...
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