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Chapter 72: Only He Shall Dream
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Chapter 74: Alive
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... tore free like a blade dragging through meat and memory. His lungs convulsed. His hands spasmed. Sweat poured from him in sheets, clinging to his chest like wet silk, his hair matted and slick with salt and fever.
The air burned.
The sky was wrong.
The trees — wrong. The wind — wrong.
No.
Not wrong.
Mortal.
Just ’mortal’
No singing stars. No whispering voids. No impossible colors bleeding from the clouds. Just the taste of dirt. The ...
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