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... walls of the storm-cage, webbing the battlefield in jagged lines that burned the air and filled every breath with the taste of copper. Wind howled in endless circles, tugging at cloaks and hair, forcing every movement to feel like a battle against the storm itself. The arena was no place—it was a predator’s maw, and Jemil and the swordmaster were trapped inside it.

The Herald crouched at the center, talons scraping molten sparks from the stone floor as it shifted its weight. Its body was ...

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