The Pale Fracture

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2026-08-22 15:09:54 -

The Pale Fracture

In the center of the table, a single quill lay dry, its feather stripped of ink and purpose. Elias Thorne stared at it, his fingers curled around the wood like roots gripping stone, though the wood had begun to crumble under the pressure of his grip. It was the year of our Lord 1240, and the light in the Citadel of Aethelgard was the grey, stagnant thing of a winter that refused to break. He...

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