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272. To Fly, To Hide
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274. Wager
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... . Once, they had gleamed with pale polish, the crescent sigil inlaid with silver. Now the moon was tarnished, its edges chipped, the gatehouse timbers warped as though sagging under the weight of silence.
Xu Ziqing stood before them, rain dripping from his sleeves, his jaw set.
At the outposts, a pair of guards leaned from the covered watchtowers. Their voices carried down, cold and dismissive.
“Turn back. The sect is not accepting visitors at this time.”
For a he ...
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