The Pale Altar
Act I Rations do not rot in transit; they rot in the ledger. Katerina Samaras drove the mule cart down the coastal road, the wheel ruts deep and slick with midsummer rain that fell cold as March. The crate of preserved rations sat behind her, heavy with the promise of sustenance for the outpost at Vathi. Her hands trembled, not from the chill, but from the weight of the empty pantry back at the...
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