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... n was awake.
Unfortunately.
He had been staring at the ceiling of his forge for the past hour, willing himself to fall back asleep, but his mind refused to cooperate.
The dream still clung to him—or was it a memory?—echoing in flashes of fire and ruin, of a throne room crumbling around him, of a voice he didn't want to remember.
He pressed a hand against his chest. No wound. No sword. No her.
Just him.
Just Darin.
A blacksmith.
Who ...
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