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... came alive in gentle rhythms—wood creaked under barefoot children, cooking fires crackled with spice and ash, and somewhere in the distance, a chime rang three times. Not a warning. Not a summoning. Just a reminder:

You're still alive.

Raen sat by the stream, his fingers tracing the water's skin. Cold, real, impossibly still.

He hadn't slept. Not because of nightmares—but because, for once, they hadn't come. The Threadrift had stopped whispering for a moment. Or perhaps.. ...

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