The Pale Protocol

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2026-08-23 20:56:38 -

The Pale Protocol

The scratching was worse at dawn, a dry, rhythmic tapping against the oak beams that sounded less like wood rot and more like a tongue clicking against the roof of a mouth. Eamon paused his quill, the ink still wet on the parchment, and listened to the silence of the scriptorium. It was a bad sound, a living sound, and it had been growing louder for three days, ever since the frost had settled...

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