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... nn, painting a single, dusty stripe of gold across the wooden floor. I woke to the sharp, rhythmic sound of steel on whetstone. Eren was already awake, bathed, and dressed, his back to me as he sat on the edge of his bed, meticulously polishing the blade of his family’s ancestral sword. The light caught the silver of his hair, making it seem to glow.

He must have sensed me stirring, because he paused, his movements ceasing for a moment. "Morning," he said, his voice a low, quiet rumble t ...

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