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... s thick with tension. Oil lamps flickered across the stone corridors, casting long shadows over the six hundred men crammed inside the makeshift shelter. Most sat in silence. A few wept for the homes they'd lost. Others sharpened salvaged blades with shaking hands.
Kiro sat alone, cross-legged in the central chamber. His eyes were shut. His blood pulsed unnaturally. Not with exhaustion... but with presence.
A voice stirred in the hollow of his mind—familiar, ancient, patient.
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