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Chapter 20: The Collector of Broken Things
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Chapter 22: Drink the Rite, Bleed the Dawn
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... uld outlast the memory of famine, of flood, of the old gods’ indifference.
Its spires showed first, punching through last year’s fire-killed scrub like the bones of a forgotten beast.
Even from half a mile away, with the sun behind them and the wind at their backs, Apollo could feel the place’s hunger.
He did not slow. If anything, he kept a dogged, childlike pace, willing the others onward with the stubbornness of a man who knew there was nothing behind them but bad weat ...
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