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... irst over the jagged rocks and splintered trees, then onto the broken stone of the city below. Smoke still drifted from the wards that hadn’t held through the collapse; faint fires glimmered in alleys like wounded eyes. The world smelled of wet stone and ash, of blood and earth, of things torn apart and somehow surviving.
I stayed crouched on the hill’s edge, knees drawn up, watching the city. My shoulder burned every time I shifted, and my ribs protested each shallow breath. The debris ...
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