The Pale Fracture
The count began at dawn, as it always did, with the weighing of the silver vials that held the last of the Warden’s strength. Elias Thorne, Commander of the Citadel’s outer guard, stood before the High Warden’s desk, his hands trembling not from cold, but from a creeping numbness that had started in his fingertips six months prior and now curled his fingers into permanent, useless hooks. He had...
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