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Chapter 390: Our Disaster
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Chapter 392: The Gardener Shows His Roots
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... two, six-three. Dressed in clothes that seemed to be made from living leaves and flower petals, constantly shifting and rearranging themselves across his form. His skin was the color of aged bark, and his hair was pure white, flowing down past his shoulders.
But his eyes.
His eyes were completely wrong. They glowed with the same silver light as the knife in my hand, and they held the weight of millennia. Of worlds dying and species vanishing and the endless, grinding march of ent ...
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