The Pale Altar
The brass badge sat heavy in Elias Thorne’s palm, cold as the iron rail he leaned against. It was a small, circular thing, stamped with the city seal, but to Elias it weighed more than the rifle he had carried in the trenches four years prior. He was thirty-four years old, and the metal felt like a debt he had not yet paid. The promotion to Captain was scheduled for the next morning, a reward...
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