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... split in burning lines.

A frozen ridge collapsed onto itself.

But the smoke didn't part with Lagun's next blow.

It cleared on its own.

Evaporated.

Driven backwards by something deeper.

A pressure built beneath the battlefield—not magic, not fury—but something older than either.

The pulse of sovereignty.

The Earth felt it first.

Then the wind.

Then Lagun.

He froze mid-step.

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