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... focating like the silence before a lightning strike.

And then—

"The Voidcloaks?"

The voice belonged to Eryndor, the most senior among the Council, his hair pure silver and skin etched with glowing runes of ancient Elven magic. His eyes, which had seen over a millennium of Aetheris’s history, now widened in disbelief.

He slowly rose from his seat, his long ceremonial robe brushing the polished root-wood floor.

"You dare speak that name, Velyrian?" he asked ...

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