The Pale Protocol
March 12, 2024. The dream came again, as it does now every few nights, a thick fog of grey stone pressing against my eyelids. I was standing in the dark, holding Silas’s hand, but his fingers were cold and brittle, like dry twigs, and I could feel the weight of the mountain settling over us, a slow, suffocating embrace. I woke with my teeth clenching, the arrhythmic thud of my heart echoing in...
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