Beyond the jagged granite teeth of the Western Gap, the empire ceased to exist. In its place stretched the Whispering Steppes—a colossal, undulating ocean of amber grass and silver-tipped reed beds that extended two hundred leagues toward the volcanic horizons of the north. Here, the wind blew perpetual and untamed, carrying the dry, aromatic scent of wild sage, sun-baked earth, and the distant, electric tang of geothermal sulfur. For three…
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