The Pale Altar

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2026-08-24 10:45:51 -

The Pale Altar

The mortar was cold against my palms, a slab of unglazed clay that smelled of old sweat and dried yarrow. I am Elias, twelve years old, and my hands are stained with the grey residue of the ash-root that makes up the base of the Pale Altar tincture. I want the Master’s seal. I want to prove that my blood is clean, that I can mix the ratios of sulfur and charcoal with the precision of a surgeon,...

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