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... song. Just the low groan of wind scraping across dead land.

Above the Black Fall, the sky hung bruised and swollen — a mass of unmoving, sallow gray clouds that clung to the heavens like rot.

The air smelled of sulfur and old magic.

The ground, cracked like the flesh of something long dead, radiated a heatless dryness that clawed at the lungs.

Every road led here — to the great Gate that split the world like the blade of god.

Around the Gate, the camp had ...

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