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... tone, something intangible gripped his chest—like a hand made of ice squeezing his lungs. The air inside the temple was wrong. It tasted like burnt blood and ash, and the flickering torches mounted on the desecrated pillars seemed to breathe, shadows pulsing with each beat of his heart.

Lyra followed close behind, her hands faintly aglow with sigils of forbidden magic. The stolen book from the ancient library hung in a satchel at her side, trembling ever so slightly—as if it could feel w ...

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