Wrapped in the cold desert winds, whispers and words are uttered. Dueling wits lunge and parry with inferences of eldritch atrocities and cursed legacies. Sigils traced nearly to completion. My name is uttered three times. Have you forgotten the price so soon, Seventh Son? Did you expect the same results after all that has transpired? I have other concerns. Are you so helpless without me?
High above MariKesh Mondrago a crimson star roars across the sky.
A mortal responds with terror and laughter that her story is to be woven into the Chronicles.
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