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... /p>

Black veins pulsed in the soil. Stone moaned when touched. And the War Altar steamed with heatless fire. Reed watched it all from the edge of the pit, his thoughts distant, cold.

"Whatever’s under there," Shia said beside him, "isn’t meant to wake."

"Then we wake it anyway," Reed replied. "But first—"

He pulled the crumpled scroll from Marseth’s dead knight and pointed at the last line. A set of coordinates.

"Whatever this artifact is... it’s not under us. ...

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