PREVIEW

... are no explosions of magic. No shifts in reality. No systemic fields.

What exists is just a wooden table.

Simple. Like an old dining table in a small house forgotten by history. The atmosphere around the table is filled with silence, as if time has stopped, leaving only scattered memories. In the corner of the room, the dim light from an oil lamp dances softly, creating mysterious shadows that hint at the laughter of ten years ago.

On it: two cups. One still warm. The oth ...

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