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... /p>
Which, yeah, not the most thrilling sentence to start a new Chapter of my life, but here we are. Sitting cross-legged—more like "cross-cramped"—in a barely lit stone chamber, trying not to shiver while a sad little ring of stones radiates the spiritual equivalent of a candle's fart.
It's not even fire. Not really. The glow comes from... memory? Ritual magic? Leftover emotional residue? All I know is it's faintly warm and the system pinged it, so obviously, it counts.
[Symb ...
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