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The winds howled through crumbling spires of the once-glorious city-state of Valenthia, carrying whispers of rebellion. De Loredo’s boots echoed against cracked cobblestones as he navigated shadowed alleys, the weight of his father’s sword a familiar burden. The Council of Oligarchs had grown fat on stolen magic, their grip tightening as the Veil—the ancient barrier shielding their world from chaos—fractured. But the people no longer cowered. Rumors spread of a scholar-turned-smuggler trading forbidden tomes for black-market alchemy, of dockworkers hoarding rusted sigils etched with forgotten wards. Revolution simmered, and De Loredo stood at its center, not as a hero, but a reluctant conduit. His visions—violent, fragmented shards of a future where the Veil shattered entirely—had drawn the attention of both the bloodmages and the underground. Now, hunted by enforcers and hailed by rebels, he faced an impossible choice: ignite the spark of war to rebuild from ashes or sacrifice himself to mend a world he no longer recognized. The clock ticked in the dissonant chime of the Oligarchs' corrupted clocktower, each strike warping reality itself. Time, it seemed, was the one force even the gods couldn’t leash.
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