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... whiskey in her hand, watching the amber liquid slosh against the glass. The fire in the grand hall crackled warmly, casting a flickering glow over the luxurious, empty room.

She let out a long, dramatic sigh.

"Eighty years," she muttered, stretching out on the oversized couch, her long silver hair spilling over the cushions. "Eighty. Damn. Years."

Eighty years of being the Defender of the North.

Eighty years of repelling raids.

Eighty years of waiting for ...

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