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... of ancient enchantments and burning sigils that flared gold for a moment, then faded into silence. The air inside was cold, the kind of cold born from trauma rather than temperature. Not a chill of weather, but of the soul.

Enara leaned against the wall, breath ragged, heart pounding. Her magic pulsed weakly beneath her skin, spent and fragile, like a flame too long pushed against the wind. Her arm still burned where the spear had grazed her earlier, and her body ached in ways that went ...

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