PREVIEW
... h of overproofed dough—puffy, disheveled, and reeking of cinnamon regret. The portal spat us into a heap on flagstones that shimmered like they’d been glazed with unicorn tears, the air thick with the zing of ozone and the faint pop-fizz of dissipating magic. My relics jangled like a drunkard’s keyring, the Heart of Glimmerfen thumping against my ribs as if applauding the chaos, while the Wyrm’s Quill sparked with a petulant zzzt, singeing the cuff of my already tragic coat. That faithful rag fl ...
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