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... of his own.

It was a foreign memory—he had inherited the brain of the deceased, and with it, his memories.

In this dream, he saw a child—a boy with pale skin, dressed in a tattered coat, boots stained by melted snow—exploring a cave hidden beneath a steep cliff, far from a frozen hamlet.

It was a habit of his, a form of escape from the oppressive stares and harsh words of adults.

The place was damp, its walls slick with frost, and a strange violet luminescence glo ...

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