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... out of the void.

Raziel shot upright, his hands flying to his chest, searching for the wound the sword had left.

His heart was pounding, his breathing coming out in short gasps.

’Where is she? Where is Zion? Where are the bodies?’

But there was no blood, just his novice robe, wrinkled and stained with ink.

He blinked.

There were only wooden benches, colored stained glass, and the smell of cheap incense.

He was in a classroom.

"Drea ...

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