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Brutally dismissed, the king jolted awake, heart racing. In the dimness of the royal chamber, it took several seconds for Prometheus to catch his breath. Once his pulse calmed, he quietly pushed the covers aside and slid out of bed. The rough weave of the rug under his bare feet muffled his steps. A simple mat, more like a doormat than a royal carpet, but it had been a gift from a couple saved by his army. For the king, it meant more than a Persian rug ever could. It was a symbol: despite e ...

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