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... yac syllables around him, wood splintering as his knife traced the erratic patterns.

He had, maybe, five minutes.

The cold floor of the Sorcerer’s Tower thrummed through him as the ritual circle released magical energy. This had to be the most complicated and convoluted ritual he’d ever attempted.

The symbols were crude and unrecognisable, making him wonder if they were even going to work, but there was no choice. He needed to make it work, to escape this place and turn t ...

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