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... eable," the girl mused aloud, voice light and far too casual for the place she stood in. Her twelve wings folded back with a ripple of dimensional static as she stepped carefully around the thick, winding roots—some still pulsing with ancient lifeblood, others brittle and gray with creeping decay.

"Yeah," she nodded to herself, "this can work."

Nidhoggr blinked slowly.

Albion, still pressed against his mother's head, pulled back in confusion.

"...What?" he asked. ...

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