The Pale Altar

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 14:51:03 -

The Pale Altar

The fog in Oria did not clear; it settled. It clung to the cobblestones of the Merchant’s Quarter like a wet wool blanket, heavy and grey, smelling of damp rot and old copper. I am Silas. I am thirty-two years old, and I have worn the same uniform for six years. The wool is thick, the steel buttons cold against my chest, but it is the only thing that keeps me from being just another body in the...

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