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... alm, rolling hills giving way to meadows stitched with hedgerows and dotted with farmsteads that puffed lazy smoke from chimneys. But the rumble grew as we descended, a low vibration underfoot that set the relics humming discordant, the scepter’s shards flickering like faulty lanterns. The mist rolled in thick by evening, turning the world to a watercolor wash of grays and greens, the air heavy with the scent of wet earth and something sharper—ozone, like a storm brewing underground. My coat clu ...
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