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222. Ashes of Authority
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223. The Violet Rain
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... t.
He never had, really.
The robes had fit like borrowed skin; worn only for shelter, never for belonging. Now they were gone, burnt to ash in a ditch two valleys back, and all that remained were his own tattered silks, stained dark at the cuffs with dried blood. Some his. Some not.
His boots dragged through the loam of a forgotten trail, long since abandoned by even the most desperate hunters. Moss crept up the bark of thin-trunked trees, and roots clawed out of the eart ...
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