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... body lay still behind him, unmoving—but not dead. Just... silent in a form that had lost its name. No longer responding to the calls of reality, as if part of this city had consumed and lulled her into eternal emptiness.
Fitran did not turn.
He did not dare.
In his left hand, a fragment of Rinoa's soul pulsed weakly like a fading heart's light. The light was neither magic nor pure memory—but a piece of emotional consciousness, a severed knot of love that refused to be ext ...
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