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... ne. Shards of red wax scattered across the polished desk, its ancient glyphs vanishing as if burned away by unseen fire. The parchment underneath seemed to breathe—old, cursed, and too heavy for simple hands.

The Obsidian Conclave.

A whisper woven into the darkest corners of noble halls. A place where truths turned men into monsters and monsters into kings. It wasn't a summons. It was a sentence.

Valerian didn't flinch.

He folded the letter and tucked it into the ...

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