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Chapter 7: The First Reflection, III
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Chapter 9: The Blade That Remembers, II
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... he was far—he wasn't. His home sat near the edge of the forest hills west of the village, built half into a slope, surrounded by wind-worn trees and scattered stones that might've once been a garden.
But people didn't speak of him. And when they did, they lowered their voices.
They said he was dangerous. Not because of his sword, but because of his eyes.
I went anyway.
***
His house looked like it had been forgotten by time. Weathered wood, crooked beams, ...
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