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... sitting that comes after victory, but not celebration. There was no audience, no medal, no applause. Just me, the silence, and the quiet cracks of my own body reminding me something was out of place — maybe a rib, maybe my mind, maybe everything.
The stone beneath me was warm, still soaked in the magic that had burned the Whisperer from the inside out. What little smoke remained from its body drifted upward slowly, scentless, as if even it were too tired to keep going. For a while, I let ...
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