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... > Riven sat by a crumbling arch, the dust still settling from the fight, his blade rested across his lap, streaked with mud and dry blood.

The mark on his arm pulsed slowly beneath his shirt, still faint, but warm from the absorption.

He didn't regret the last strike, but he didn't feel quite proud of it either—just felt hollow inside... like an echo of a bell long since silenced.

Veyla stood nearby, her back turned, staring off toward the edge of the ruins. She crossed h ...

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