Using his trusty piece of chalk, Raze was gliding it along the floorboards. The people had huddled in the center; there were around fifty of them, all of them a different age, different stages of their life, and different reasons as to why they were there.
Raze was no longer producing his wind spell that would silence words. As he continued to draw with the chalk, he could see a young girl who looked as if she was barely a teenager.
She had been holding onto her mother, and as Raze was drawing some runes, she whispered a few words.
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