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... ing veins of an ancient beast.

Ian followed the woman closely, his boots squelching in the muck that coated the stone floor. The air filled with the stench of rot and despair, the walls slick with moisture that glistened in the dim glow of scattered torches.

It was a labyrinth, designed to disorient and trap. He tried to memorize the path, but the endless turns and identical corridors made it impossible.

"You have a name, slave?" the woman asked abruptly, cutting through ...

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