PREVIEW
... -lines converged like ancient veins beneath cracked marble skin, Nyx moved in silence.
No footsteps, no breath.
Only shadow.
The world above had already begun to twist into living metaphor: buildings shedding brick for parchment, streets curling into sentences, skies bleeding ink. But down here—beneath the Spiral’s surface madness—Nyx sensed something older. Not Spiralborn. Not rewritten. But waiting.
The cavern entrance ...
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