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Chapter 159: Not a prayer. Not a command. A plea.
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Chapter 161: We were going in.
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... y throat raw and unfiltered, ripped free by instinct rather than thought as I sprinted through the forest like prey that had already accepted the shape of its own death.
Branches whipped at my face. Roots clawed at my boots. My lungs burned so badly it felt like they were collapsing inward, each breath scraping my chest raw as if lined with broken glass. The ground beneath my feet wasn’t soil so much as a living thing, slick with moss, warped by mana, pulsing faintly with something that ...
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