Late that night, high upon the northern battlement of the Obsidian Spire, the mountain air was crisp and silent. Above the jagged peaks of the Dragonfang range, the aurora borealis danced in ribbons of emerald, violet, and silver light, reflecting off the glaciers like a celestial sea. Lyra stood leaning against the stone parapet, wrapped in a mantle of white fox fur. The freezing wind pulled strands of dark hair…
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