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... a page wiped bare, waiting for a new mark.

Rex stood alone.

Still clutching the brush, still staring at the sketch of absence on the canvas. But something in him had shifted — a subtle sharpening of perception. A whispering awareness of space, angle, and intent.

The faint glow of the previous glyph still flickered beneath his skin, slowly fading into memory. But something remained — not just a memory, but a tension, a readiness. A canvas stretched tight before the brush t ...

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