He exhaled, steam rising from his lips. They never learn he muttered, smirking as he stepped over a melted sword half-buried in blackened earth. The ground cracked beneath his boots, still sizzling. Magic pulsed beneath his skin, aching to be used again. But something flickered in his chest—cold and unfamiliar. A hesitation. He clenched his fist. Six times I've risen. How many more do I have? Somewhere beyond the smoke, a pair of eyes watched him. Ancient. Familiar. Waiting.
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