The Pale Altar

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2026-08-22 20:00:25 -

The Pale Altar

The iron dust hung in the air like a suspended judgment, thick and gray, coating the inside of my lungs with a grit that tasted of old blood and rust. I stood at the edge of the Pale Altar, that impossible pocket of stillness in the heart of the Whitmore Foundry, where the great steam hammers had ceased their rhythmic pounding and the air had turned to a vacuum of absolute, terrifying silence....

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