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... rs of prayer, the air thick with the scent of burning incense. The villagers knelt before the goddess, their eyes closed in reverence. It wasn't a statue they were praying to, but a humble fragment of stone, said to hold the essence of Astrea herself.
At the front of the room stood the priest, a man of quiet dignity, his robes adorned with symbols of prosperity. The villagers called him a prophet, but to them, he was more—a guide, a healer, and a beacon of hope.
As the session dr ...
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