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... Above the soaring altitudes of the Draconia-Alpen Mountains, the sun seemed to explode from behind the horizon, drenching the granite peaks in a gold so brilliant it was painful to the eye. For Roland Sudrath, that light was not a symbol of hope, but rather a death knell for his past life as a loyal citizen of the Kingdom of Aethelgard.
Throughout the night, he had not closed his eyes once. In his hand, a sheet of cold dragon-skin parchment felt as heavy as a mountain. It was the draft ...
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