The Pale Exile

أضاف وظيفة جديدة Literature

2026-08-23 21:38:29 -

The Pale Exile

The steam rose in thick, white columns from the vents of the Oakhaven Ironworks, a constant shroud that turned the November air into a wet, gray soup. I stood alone in the watchtower, my hands wrapped around a tin cup of tea that had gone cold hours ago, watching the fog swallow the silhouette of the main valve. I am Elias Thorne, thirty-four years old, a border constable with twelve years of...

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