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... at Arya's face—sharp and relentless—carrying the icy tang of ancient glaciers and the faint, distant scent of pine.

Each gust bit into his skin, leaving behind a stinging chill that seeped through his layers of clothing.

He trailed behind the main group, his breaths steady and deliberate, each exhale blooming into mist against the frigid air.

Towering peaks surrounded him on all sides, rising like jagged sentinels that pierced the endless blue sky.

Their snow-clad ...

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