At the Spire’s apex, a swirling maelstrom of pure wind coalesced into a sphere of translucent air, humming with the unspoken prayers of generations. Iseamini extended her hand; the wind brushed her skin, filling her lungs with ancient sighs. She inhaled, and the sphere dissolved into a vortex of silver mist, which she captured in a crystal vial. The Breath of Wind now pulsed in harmony with the Seed.
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