The Pale Path
The glass vial slipped, not from weakness, but from the sheer, terrible weight of the silence in the room, and Elias Thorne caught it against his chest before it could shatter on the polished parquet, his hands trembling so violently that the liquid inside sloshed with a rhythmic, mocking clink. He stood in the center of the Chancellor’s private study, a space so vast and cold it felt less like...
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