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... ave been. Alternate versions of events, discarded fates, forgotten truths. And now, the child who had no name stood at the nexus of all of it, surrounded by golden strands that pulsed with buried possibility.

"I can take you there," she said.

Raith hesitated. "Where?"

"To the Loom."

Even saying the word caused the surrounding air to shudder.

No one had seen the Loom in eons. Not since the Architects buried its location beneath layers of recursive fiction, ...

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