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... f kneaded by a deranged baker, its rune-carved walls pulsing with a glow that screamed you’re in way over your head, Cecil. The air was thick with the scent of fresh bread, caramelized sugar, and a faint whiff of impending catastrophe, with crumbs, coins, and stray bun bits crunching underfoot like a battlefield of bad baking. I led the way, clutching the Heart of Glimmerfen, its loaf-shaped orb throbbing like it was yelling, Don’t trip, you fool! The Wyrm’s Quill buzzed in my other hand, its li ...
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