The Pale Path
The frost bit into the cobblestones of Oakhaven square, a sharp, crystalline silence that broke only when the crowd surged. Twelve-year-old Elias stood at the center of the chaos, his hands trembling as he shaped the ceremonial loam cake, a dense, heavy mixture of clay and grain that served as the town’s spiritual anchor. He was not supposed to be there. The jeers began low, a technical...
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