The Pale Banner
Elias Thorne, called out in a voice that had not spoken in thirty years, stood in the foyer of his crumbling Victorian estate, holding a faded white banner that hummed with a low, resonant frequency. The sound was not in his ears but in the marrow of his bones, a vibration that matched the erratic, severe tremor now seizing his hands, making the heavy fabric slip and tear at the edges. He...
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