The Pale Tower
The cough was not a sound so much as a structural failure, a cracking in the masonry of Elias’s chest that sent a spray of rust-colored blood onto the cobblestones before he could turn his head. He stood before the Pale Tower, a monolith of limestone that rose from the city’s edge like a finger pointing accusingly at the low, grey sky of 1204. The wind cut through his tunic, carrying the scent...
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