The Pale Path
The hand of Captain Elias Thorne trembled as he reached for the hilt of his sword, not in fear, but in the rigid discipline of a man who had spent twenty years waiting for a command that never came. He stood before the throne of Valerius, a fortress of grey stone and deeper shadow, where the air was thick with the scent of damp wool and old sweat. King Alistair, frail and wrapped in furs that...
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