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... th tension so dense it seemed to choke the very breath from a man’s lungs.

It was not unlike a blacksmith’s forge, not in warmth but in meaning. For what was being shaped here was not steel for battle, but the end of a campaign that had never truly begun.

Prince Lechlian stood frozen, his knuckles white as he breathed in sharp, shallow bursts as if air itself had betrayed him.

"That’s... that’s impossible," he hissed, but even as the words left his mouth, they sounded mor ...

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