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... the Golden Claw dimmed automatically, leaving behind an incredibly thin, amber-orange luminescence, as if the building itself were breathing in rhythm with the magma coursing beneath the mountain. Seraphina had returned to the main palace wing over an hour ago, leaving the warmth that had momentarily graced the balcony to evaporate, swallowed by the dry, biting winds of Draconia.
Roland Sudrath sat in an obsidian throne-chair draped in the thick hide of a prehistoric beast. Before him, ...
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