The Pale Altar
The mist did not roll into the courtyard of Aethelgard so much as it seeped, a cold and viscous exhalation from the earth itself, swallowing the iron gates and the faces of the courtiers until only the pale, lichen-crusted face of the High King remained visible, suspended in the gray void like a judgment waiting to fall. Sir Kaelen stood at the center of the dais, his armor polished to a mirror...
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