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... med endless. Each step echoed too loud, too heavy, as though the Vault itself was listening. Jemil’s chest still burned where the curse writhed, the golden mark glowing faintly beneath his torn shirt. His wives flanked him, weary but unbroken.

At last, the stair opened into a vast chamber.

Blades.

Hundreds of them jutted from the floor, the walls, even the ceiling—rusted daggers, broken spears, warped swords. But they weren’t scattered. They were arranged, forming a path ...

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