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The wind howled through the battered ramparts of Vharthos. The old stonemason traced the cracks with trembling hands, whispering the names of fallen apprentices. His students worked tirelessly to mend the walls, knowing the next assault was imminent.
Soon, the ground began to shake. The Undead came like a tide of despair—skeletons, wraiths, and beasts of bone hammering the gates. We held fast, our shields gleaming in the firelight as 25 days and nights blurred into one endless battle.
When Te-Gu fell, the Undead scattered like dust in the wind. The stonemason, breathing heavily, approached with a spark of hope.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

The air shimmered with the corruption of the Void. We stood before the gateway—an open wound in reality, pulsing with dark energy. The Undead guarded the three massive crystals surrounding it, their light feeding the infernal portal like beating hearts.
Each step closer drained our strength. The ground trembled as if the world itself resisted our approach. Yet we pressed on—one by one, the crystals would fall, and so too would the Undead’s plans.
His words reached us like a whisper carried by the void:
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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