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... tured—where time bled like ink through cracks too old to seal. The ash beneath their boots had stilled. The ghosts had vanished. Yet their presence lingered in the quiet that followed. Every breath felt thinner now. Not from lack of air. But from the pressure.

Leon stepped forward.

The mirror rippled.

He saw himself—not young nor old—but worn.

Tired. A sword in one hand. A child’s hand in the other. He blinked. The image vanished.

Behind him, Elena’s fire ...

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