The Pale Path
The count of the liturgical keys on the high shelf had come to forty-seven, one short of the forty-eight required to seal the Heretic’s Gate before the winter solstice, and you, Elias, stood in the antechamber of the High Magister with the weight of that missing number pressing against your sternum like a stone. The air in the Order of the Pale Path was not merely thin; it was a living,...
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