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Chapter 7: The Bath Before the Storm
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Chapter 9: Wake Up Call
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... d the procession, followed by three others—each clothed in garments so refined they made the air itself feel underdressed.
Their presence was not magical. No flicker of aura. No divine thrum. Yet somehow, their very existence commanded. Like royalty so ingrained in the structure of the world that even the floor bowed underfoot.
The garments they wore weren’t just clothes—they were declarations.
Ashborn’s coat was midnight black with deep crimson trim, each thread stitched ...
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