The Faded Paradox
Thorne. The name was spat from the lips of the High Inquisitor Malachi, who stood atop the obsidian steps of Blackwood Keep, his robes dripping with the relentless, icy rain that had been falling for three days without ceasing, a sound that had long since ceased to be weather and had become a kind of static pressure against the eardrums, a low, grinding hum that seemed to vibrate in the marrow...
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