The Pale Circus

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2026-08-24 10:01:33 -

The Pale Circus

Tunis in winter is a place of white stone and black soil, where the air tastes of salt and impending frost, and the only sound before the sun rises is the rhythmic, hollow strike of the forge two streets over. Muhammad Idris stood in the center of the main hall, his jaw a ruin of broken bone and dried blood, the weight of the dead commander’s body dragging against his boots as he pulled the...

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