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... the earth in thin, brittle sheets, cracking under the slow, steady steps of his horse.

The wind howled, carrying the scent of damp stone and something far worse—the stink of rot, of death left to fester.

He tugged his cloak tighter around his shoulders, the fur lining coarse against his fingers.

It did little against the cold, but it was better than nothing. His breath came out as pale clouds in the frigid air, vanishing like a forgotten prayer.

And then, he saw ...

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