<p>Twilight was drawing its last touches of gold and purple over Grammaria, announcing the arrival of the almost perpetual night. Elia de Gareth was standing on the terrace of her modest abode, lost in her thoughts as she watched the horizon ablaze with the last puffs of the arcane Dragon over the Sun. Her fingers clutched a yellowed letter, an object whose words she had reread countless times, trying to decipher its meaning. Long shadows stretch...
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