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“If you can hear me, I, Traves, the last of the Dark Storm tribe, want to tell you that you are unfair! You can’t possibly be worthy of being gods! What were my daughter and wife guilty of? What, I ask you? What can an unborn child be guilty of?”

The heavens answered with silence. Traves waited until he saw the first stars appear in the sky. Eyes blazing with rage, he looked at the ground.

“Gargan!” He shouted. “We had a deal! You gave me your word and swore on the symbol of wisdom that you wouldn’t harm the new Dark Storm tribe!”

Traves gazed eastward. Somewhere in that direction, according to his stories, was the capital of the Dragon Lands, a magnificent city that even Dahanatan paled in comparison to.

“Just you wait, my enemy. I’m coming for you.”

With that, Traves struck the golden amulet with his fist. It began to expand, covering his scarred chest with a golden breastplate. Its radiance turned into a heat so great that the ground under his feet began to melt. Gauntlets covered
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