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... ght when the northern wind carried a faint salty scent that had no place in Nocture. The city continued to breathe with an increasingly steady rhythm not the gasping breath of post-war exhaustion, but the calm respiration of a warrior beginning to trust its own strength. Dwarf hammers now rang like the rhythm of a work song, lycanthrope howls sounded like spirited morning chants, and thin black mist drifted gently among black roses that bloomed thicker than before. The reports on Sylvia’s obsidi ...
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