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... ot after the festival. Not after the emissary. And certainly not after that dream.
He sat hunched over on the edge of his bed, gripping his forehead like he could squeeze the memory out of his skull. The battlefield. The smoke-choked air. The knight—his hands slick with blood. The Overlord's dying smirk.
"You will be my vessel."
Darin shuddered.
It wasn't real. ...
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