The Pale Circus

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2026-08-22 18:20:52 -

The Pale Circus

The fog in Oakhaven did not roll in so much as it seeped up from the cobblestones, a thick, sulfurous mist that tasted of iron and old blood, and I, Silas Vane, stood at the head of the patrol with the cold weight of the Pale Mask pressed against my chest, its surface slick with a heat that had nothing to do with the winter air. I am forty-two years old, a warden of the Iron Gate, and for the...

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