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... ok beneath him—cracked and bleeding molten light. The sky churned with smoke, thick with ash and ruin. Massive towers fell in slow collapse, their ancient runes flaring one last time before crumbling to dust.

The world was dying.

And he was already running.

He didn't know his name—none of them did. But in this life, he was strong. His body moved like instinct. His hands wove runes into the air without thinking. His voice, when he spoke, made the shattered stone pause.

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