The Pale Protocol
The letter lay on the table, the wax seal broken, the ink still wet where Elias had signed it. He picked it up, the paper rough and cold under his fingers, and read the final line he had written to his father: *I will be home by the first frost.* Outside, the wind tore at the thatch of the watchtower, a dry, rasping sound like a dog coughing up a bone. Elias set the letter down and turned to...
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