The morning after the fall of Borek Bloodfang, the valley of Oakhaven woke not to the suffocating terror of three hundred winters, but to the pristine, blinding brilliance of an unbroken northern dawn. The bitter, sub-zero gale that had carried the foul stench of necrotic wyrm-blood had vanished, replaced by a crisp, sweet mountain breeze that smelled of clean snow, blooming spruce needles, and wild balsam pine. Across the frozen…
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