Far away, in the swamp near the rebuilt dojo, the water stilled unnaturally.

  A symbol burned briefly beneath the surface—violet, ancient, wrong.

  Sir Dracks felt it immediately.

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  He stood upright, eyes narrowing.

  “This mark…” he muttered.

  Lucky looked up. “What is it?”

  Sir Dracks didn’t answer.

  High above them, unseen, Damsul watched from the shadows, smiling.