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Chapter 15Book 7: : The Empire’s Diplomacy I
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Chapter 17Book 7: : A Weighty Letter
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... ision. When the world reassembled itself, the hooded figure had moved twenty paces forward, standing alone in the grass between their small group and the vast elven host.
The morning breeze died completely. Not stilled—murdered, cut off mid-breath as if the air itself recoiled from what was about to unfold.
"Turn back." The figure's voice carried across the valley without rising, without strain. It simply arrived, inevitable as gravity. "Consider this a formal warning."
V ...
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