Framed

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Chapter 67 The Last Light of Narrin

The storm didn’t return with fury.

It came with precision.

A silence that sliced through the veil like a blade. A whisper that bent the air. A shard of rewritten prophecy—an arrow of voidfire—cut through the sky, aimed not at me, but at Milo.

He stood at the edge of the Flameborn Rift, shielding ...