The Pale Altar
The stone is in your hands, cold as river silt, and it whispers that you are already dead. You are Elias Thorne, a border warden of forty years, and you have held the Pale Altar for a decade, a duty that keeps the fence line straight and your brother’s medical bills paid. The debt is heavy, a physical weight in your chest, but the stone is heavier, a mirror of your own fractured soul that...
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