The Pale Protocol

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2026-08-22 16:40:30 -

The Pale Protocol

The iron key was cold in my hand, biting into the flesh of my palm, a small, heavy thing that smelled of rust and old blood. I held it up to the candlelight, watching the reflection of my own tired face in the polished surface. Outside, the wind howled against the stone walls of the keep, a sound like a beast trapped in a cellar. I was Thomas, thirty years old, a Royal Guard with twelve years...

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