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... part of him—buried beneath layers of calm composure—wanted to drop all pretenses, grab the old ghost by the collar, and demand:

What the hell do you mean I was born in the river of time?

The thought alone made his scalp tingle.

Because as far as he remembered, nothing about his birth was extraordinary.

He hadn’t descended from the heavens.

He hadn’t emerged from some divine realm.

He had woken up in a tiny fishing village—one so painfully ordinary ...

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