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Ashera clutched her worn lute against her chest, her weathered knuckles white against the smooth wood. Rain hammered on the thatched roof of the tavern, its rhythm blending with the raucous laughter and clinking mugs inside. Around her, faces blurred under the dim oil lamps, a tapestry of weathered fishermen, braggart hunters, and merchants with eyes sharp as their knives. But even the merriment couldn't drown out the gnawing emptiness in Ashera's heart.

A Song For A Lost City

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