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Chapter 57: [] The Morning After the Emerald Wave
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Chapter 59: [] The Smell of Burnt Flour and Bad News
PREVIEW
... flat, like I was speaking into a thick wool blanket.
The air in the Void-Wastes didn’t just taste like ozone; it felt thin, lacking the "vibrancy" of the world we’d just left. If Aethelgard was a lush, saturated oil painting, this place was a charcoal sketch done on a half-erased canvas. The silver sand beneath my boots shifted with a metallic clink-clink-clink, sounding more like crushed lightbulbs than grit.
But the biggest problem wasn’t the sand. It was the dog.
Cerbe ...
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