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... receded like a curtain pulled back for a show.

There, rising against the cold blue sky, was the mansion.

Not a ruin. Not a gothic relic.

But a futuristic fortress, gleaming with dark metals and enchanted glass, towers pulsing with soft light, gears turning like it breathed. Strange sigils glowed faintly across the arched spires. Wyfmoor’s shadows ended at its gates.

The group slowed.

Salviana’s brow furrowed.

"This... this doesn’t match the village ...

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