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... but the kind of hush that followed bloodshed. A stillness that held its breath.

Lumberling moved through the underbrush like a wraith, every step whisper-soft over damp leaves. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in thin, golden ribbons, tracing across the steel of his shoulder plates. His spear rested along his back. His breath was calm.

But inside?

Tension coiled beneath his ribs.

A whisper of unease.

A long shadow cast by the past.

Almost a yea ...

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