The Pale Garden
The year was 1348, and the city of Ashenmoor lay under a sky the color of bruised slate, a canopy that seemed to press down upon the cobblestones with a weight that defied the natural order of things. In the uppermost chamber of the tower, Master Aldric sat before his workbench, his fingers trembling as he held a vial of liquid so pale it appeared to be made of liquid moonlight. He was fifty...
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