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... ls echoing the faint creak of leather and the occasional clang of steel. High above, sunlight poured through narrow windows, streaking the polished floor with bands of golden light.

Aramith spun his sword idly in his hand, the weight a comfortable reminder of countless hours of practice. Across from him, Mozrael stood firm, her grip tight on her metallic staff, its surface gleaming faintly.

To the side, Lia perched on a stack of crates, her bow resting across her knees and a quiv ...

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