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... ust slightly—expanding, contracting—like lungs exhaling dust after centuries of silence. My boots leave faint prints in the layer of ash coating the floor. No footprints before mine.
No one's been here in a long time.
And yet... it feels like something has been waiting.
At the heart of the chamber is a pedestal, half-swallowed by the stone floor. Upon it floats a shard. That's the only word I can think of. Not a crystal. Not a machine. A shard—a jagged pi ...
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