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... murmurs of prayer. Thick incense hung in the air. The villagers knelt, eyes closed, hands folded before a chipped fragment of stone. Not a statue, not some grand idol—just a piece of rock said to hold the essence of the goddess herself.
At the front stood the prophet, calm, steady, dressed in simple robes marked with signs of prosperity. To outsiders, he was a priest. To the village, he was more than that. Their guide. Their healer. Their hope.
As the session ended, he faced the ...
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