The Pale Exile

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2026-08-23 09:44:37 -

The Pale Exile

Thorne, hold your tongue. The voice cut through the clatter of silverware and the low hum of conversation at the Blackwood Mine annual gala. Elias Thorne looked up from his plate, a cold wedge of roast beef sitting heavy in his gut. Silas Vane stood at the head of the table, raising a glass of sherry, his eyes sweeping the room with the practiced ease of a man who owned the air in it. The hall...

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