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... fluttered.
No horns sang.
Just a line of thirty Praetorian cavalry, their dusk-black armor absorbing the morning light, cloaks a muted swirl of imperial purple as they moved like a single, breathing machine around him.
No fanfare.
No prayer.
Only motion.
His command had already passed: Sabellus and Caetrax would hold the east.
Elheat would keep pressing the western scar.
Gallius circled north, gathering whispers and converts.
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