PREVIEW

... t on a sun-warmed bench in a bustling Dawnridge market square, the midday air alive with the scent of fresh bread, roasted chestnuts, and the faint tang of citrus from a nearby fruit stall. The square hummed with vendors calling out, children laughing, and the strum of a busker's guitar blending with the chatter. His guitar case rested beside him, the leather strap's stars catching the sunlight, a tether to his mom's pride. The Hearth's embers still glowed—Shatterpoint at ninety-one thousand lis ...

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