The Pale Mist
The mist does not roll in so much as it materializes, a thick, woolen shroud that swallows the black stone of the Keep before the sun has fully cleared the eastern ridge. You are Elias, thirty-two years old, your knees aching with the damp cold that seeps through your wool tunic, and the concrete want is clear: you must secure your brother Thomas’s release before the noon court. The opposing...
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