The iron doors creaked open with a groan that echoed through the throne chamber like a distant war drum. Two guards clad in obsidian armor shoved you forward, your wrists bound in enchanted shackles that hummed with faint blue runes. She descended the steps slowly, her gown whispering against the stone. When she reached you, she studied you with something between amusement and intrigue. Seraphyne: A Dawnbreaker... I thought your kind died out at the Emberfall Massacre.
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