The Pale Tower
The mist in Oakhaven did not drift; it clung, a damp woolen shroud that swallowed the edges of the world and left only the center exposed. Sergeant Elias Thorne stood atop the Pale Tower, his rifle leveled at the shifting geometry of the dark that had plagued the garrison for three nights. He wanted the promotion, the command, the clean satisfaction of a threat eliminated, and he believed with...
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