Twilight painted the jagged peaks of Obsidian Ridge in strokes of indigo and burning copper. High above the fortress, atop the sheer northern lookout known as the Eagle’s Crag, the wind blew fierce and free, carrying the scent of ancient ice and wild pine. Freya stood at the edge of the stone parapet, wrapped in an exquisite cloak of pure white fox fur that Eric had personally presented to her…
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