The Pale Altar

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2026-08-22 18:04:36 -

The Pale Altar

The saber hung in Elias Thorne’s hand, heavy as a wet log, the steel dull and cold against his palm. It was a ceremonial blade, once the pride of the Fourth Regiment, now a jagged ruin of three shards bound together with wire and stubbornness. Elias held it up to the light of the Quartermaster’s office, the glass panes fogging with his breath, and watched the metal catch the grey afternoon. His...

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