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... The second was for warships spotted on the horizon. But the third—so rarely struck that many thought it only ceremonial—was the bell of drowning, a knell that no city should ever hear.
On this night, that bell screamed its third toll.
The deep, resonant bong rolled over Veyrus like a death sentence. The harbor shuddered with the sound, echoing across every street, every stone wall, every trembling soul. It was not merely a warning—it was an admission. The city was already dying. ...
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