The dust of the shattered Blood Altar settled slowly upon the jagged obsidian flagstones of Black Crag, carried away by a cool, clean northern breeze that smelled of alpine pine, melted glacier runoff, and the crisp promise of an early spring. For the first time in over four centuries, the suffocating shroud of sulfurous black smog that had choked the central volcanic basin began to tear apart under the scouring…
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