The Pale Fracture
The gaslight in the Iron Ministry’s deep archive did not illuminate so much as it accused, casting long, shivering shadows that danced against the towering shelves of ledgers. Elias Thorne stood before the central desk, his hands trembling not from the chill of the industrial night outside, but from the electric hum of the anomaly before him. It was a pale, shifting tear in the air, no wider...
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