The Pale Fracture
The road to the Pale Court was a ribbon of grey dust that cut through the white fog, and Elias walked it with the heavy, rhythmic gait of a man whose lungs were already fighting for air. He was forty years old, a stonecutter from the lowlands, and he carried a satchel of chisels that felt heavier than they had the morning he left his village. His wife, Sarah, lay in their cottage bed, her skin...
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