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Chapter 110: Sky Blues
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Chapter 112: Fruit of Labor
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... hore, pulling in and out with a rhythm that was neither morning nor night. The sky above the dream was painted in shades of indigo and violet, stars dissolving into saltwater mist.
Hermes stood at the edge of this world, his eyes meeting Glasán’s, the only other figure who seemed solid against the haze.
"When are you leaving?" Glasán’s voice carried over the sound of the sea, not in the cadence of his Irish tongue, but in Hermes’ own modern English.
Irish has a beauty of ...
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