The Pale Protocol
The ink in my pen is running low, and so is my will, but I must set down the facts before the mist takes them. I am Elias Thorne, border warden of the highlands, thirty-two years old, and I am writing this from the cold floor of my quarters with a shattered arm and a heart that beats like a trapped bird. I want only the pension. It is a small thing, a paper promise, but it is the only wall...
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