Next chapter:
Chapter 2: First Arc: Hope
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... here’s nothing left to protect?
The night wind softly beat against my face, carrying a scent of roasted fish from the small bonfire.
I pulled my cloak tighter, even though the cold never bothered me - the fire’s warmth barely reaching me. I was fifteen - almost sixteen, born in a family of fishermen, and somehow still terrible at fishing. But patience, trial and error made me finally succeed: today, the small victory of my catch felt like the whole world belonged to me, and only ...
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