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... eaves like falling silk. His cauldron—battered bronze with faintly glowing dragon etchings—hovered silently at his side, following him wherever he paced. He had grown used to its presence, the weight of its spirit brushing against his soul with each breath.

The stillness broke with the sound of soft steps. A figure approached, cloaked in dark blue robes, beard long, eyes gleaming like deep water. It was the old envoy of the Yellow Blossom River Prince.

"Kent King." The man bowed ...

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