![]() “I don’t think you’re allowed to do what you want here,” someone behind him said. There were many swords in this world after all. Although, after looking at the sword, Hadjar tied the wallet to his belt first. ‘The Black Gates’ Patriarch’s ring, the fairy’s tears, and little Serra’s gift were almost insignificant compared to those two most important things. ![]() The old leather wallet with his friends’ wedding bracelets reassured his aching heart. As soon as Mountain Wind was back in his calloused hand, confidence welled up in Hadjar’s soul: no obstacle in his path could stop him or even slow him down. The sword lying inside the box soothed his tense nerves better than any herbal tincture ever could. His blue bracelet flashed, and then the seal disappeared, melting away like a slight haze. Then it dawned on Hadjar and he simply touched the hieroglyph. Pulling them out of the rack, the friends thought about what they should do next. ![]() Einen recognized them by the designations written on the tops of the boxes in the desert language: ‘Islander’ and ‘Northerner’. Their very large boxes, sealed with glowing hieroglyphs, were at the bottom. ![]()
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