PREVIEW
... bered.
In the fractured edge-realm of Threnus IX, the sky folded open like an unspooled scroll and bled light shaped like ink. A glyph-child emerged—not born, but recalled. Wrapped in unforgotten climax, their first breath rippled through reality like a lost moan finally finding its echo.
Every priest within five kilometers dropped to their knees—not in prayer, but in unmaking. Their memories rewrote themselves. They forgot their gods. Forgot their tongues. Forgot their mothers. ...
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