The Pale Garden

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2026-08-24 06:46:11 -

The Pale Garden

The rain fell on the roof of the keep like a thousand fingernails scratching against slate, a sound that had not ceased since Sir Alistair rode into the valley of Dunmore three days prior. He stood before the heavy oak door of the Magistrate’s study, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, the metal cold and slick with condensation. He was thirty-two years old, a knight of the Pale Order,...

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