The Pale Exile
Chapter One "You are striking the wrong stone, Captain," the voice echoed, not from the air, but from the wet, blackening walls of the nave. Anouk Fontaine did not look up. He raised the mace, the iron head heavy with the damp of the drowned city, and brought it down on the altar. The stone did not crack; it bled. A thick, viscous ink oozed from the fracture, spreading across the obsidian floor...
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