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Yoo’s boot touched ground that shouldn’t exist—solid, yet simultaneously liquid, the surface rippling outward from his footfall—splash-shimmer-solidify—creating concentric waves that froze mid-motion before melting back into fluidity.
The air here tasted sharp. Not metallic like the Threshold. Sharp like broken glass suspended in honey—sweet and cutting simultaneously, coating his tongue with sensations that made his teeth ache. Ache-throb-pulse. Each breath carried flavors that h ...
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