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... s boots skidded in the moss. Sylvie's spell halted on her fingertips, ice crystallising silently. Erina stopped breathing, the weight of the forest pressing down hard. Something in the air—heavy, thick, primal—crushed the silence.

Then it broke.

A roar, raw and guttural, shook the undergrowth.

Orcs.

They charged from the trees, howling, massive arms swinging cleavers and rust-worn axes. Crude armour jangled over their thick frames—eight feet tall, maybe more. Gree ...

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