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... he abyss.

He stood still, his breath slow and steady, the aftershocks of Torkas’ fall still echoing in the marrow of the forest.

The red-cloaked stranger hadn’t moved. His presence felt like a wound that refused to close—pulsing, taunting, deliberate.

Ian’s gray eyes narrowed. A long exhale drifted from his nose.

"What you’re looking for..." he began, voice barely louder than the wind, yet honed like glass, "what point is there in seeing it? The moment I let it ha ...

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