The Pale Altar
The iron smell of the basement was thick enough to taste, a metallic tang that coated the back of Elias Thorne’s throat as he pressed his palm against the cold, smooth face of the Pale Altar. It was a slab of grey stone, unremarkable to the untrained eye, yet it hummed with a faint, subterranean vibration that Elias felt in his teeth, a low-frequency thrum that matched the rattle of his own...
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