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Chapter 2: Blood And Oath
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Chapter 4: The watching Eyes
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Ancient blackthorn trees rose like skeletal sentinels, their branches twisted into impossible shapes, thorns as long as daggers dripping with morning dew that caught the weak sunlight like blood. The air grew thicker here, heavy with the scent of damp earth, decaying leaves, and something sweeter—almost cloying—like overripe fruit left to rot. Every step crunched on fallen twigs that sounded too loud in the oppressive silence. No birds sang. No small creatures scurried. Even th ...
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