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... been a steady corona of holy fire—ringing the dome above the altar in a perfect circle—now sputtered in staccato pulses, like a candle choking on its own wax. The carved runes in the obsidian walls glowed faintly, their lines no longer humming in harmony but... discordant.

Prexie Ash stood at the altar in silence, her robes the color of dried blood and soot. Her hands were raised, palms outward, fingers crooked in a rite meant to steady the sacred breath of flame. But the fire did not an ...

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