The Pale Altar

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2026-08-23 21:38:26 -

The Pale Altar

The air in Blackwood tasted of iron and burnt sugar, a thick, cloying miasma that clung to the throat and settled in the lungs like a second skin. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the rioting street, his municipal badge raised high against the surging mass of soot-stained faces, his hand trembling not from fear but from the violent, arrhythmic thud of his own heart. He was forty-five years...

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