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... he wind outside, casting flickering shadows like restless ghosts. King Vesh lay on a simple cot, his dark armor piled beside him, the core on his neck pulsing softly, its cold light painting his face in pale, sickly hues.

He shifted, his muscles stiff from the battle, his mind a haze of regret and half-formed thoughts. Rising to his feet, he pushed aside the heavy tent flap, stepping out into the sharp, icy air.

Five tents circled his own, their dark shapes like sentinels in the ...

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