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King Arthur knelt in a crumbling Roman ruin, gripping Excalibur like a shovel. The blade, dulled from years of misuse, scraped against dirt and rocks.

In the Klaxon Asylum, a relic of the old town’s forgotten days, Edgar had learned to accept his place among the dark.

For  a thousand years, Daniel Moon had waited. The room was small, its walls etched with runes that pulsed faintly in the dim light.