The Pale Dance

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2026-08-23 22:48:38 -

The Pale Dance

The fog did not smell of rot, but of ozone and cold iron. Elias kept his eyes on the gap in the treeline, his breath hitching in his throat as the mist curled around the ankles of the men behind him. He was twenty-four, a scout for the border legion, and he had a debt to pay that weighed heavier than the sword in his hand. If he survived the night, the inheritance from his dead father would be...

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