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... ht.

It was the absence of it.

Color bled from the horizon. The kind of light that should’ve meant sunrise didn’t arrive. Instead, everything beyond the fourth dune line turned pale, washed-out—bleached, like the sun had looked down and changed its mind.

Atop the high terrace of the Flame Citadel, Yorrik Venn gripped the railing with fingers already too tight for comfort. The edge of his gauntlet clicked once against carved obsidian. Then ...

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