The wedding took place at sunset atop the High Eyrie, an open stone platform perched two thousand feet above the volcanic caldera. The wind roared across the abyss, whipping Lyra's bridal veil—a delicate weave of silver spider-silk and spun frost—into a shimmering cloud around her dark curls. King Auren stood before her, stripped of his heavy court finery, clad in ceremonial armor of dragon-scale plates that gleamed like polished slate.…
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