PREVIEW
... tes of Sanctuary just past noon.
It wasn’t a caravan of grateful refugees seeking asylum, nor was it a heavily armed raid party looking for a fight. It was a single rusted beat-up pickup truck.
The engine sputtered and choked on the ambient mana before screeching to a halt right at the edge of the golden barrier.
A lone terrified soldier wearing the burnt and ash-stained insignia of Sector 7 stepped out. He didn’t say a word. He just dropped a crude wooden crate onto the ...
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