PREVIEW
... smelled of old, dried moss. But to Hidayat Nur Mustafidl, this place was more luxurious than a five-star hotel penthouse. The reason was simple: no horned rabbits, no moss wolves, and no transparent tigers trying to rip his intestines out.
Dayat slumped in the corner of the small cave. His breath still sounded like someone who had just escaped a debt collector chasing him across a village. His imaginary jacket had long vanished from his mind; now he only felt the cold stone wall piercing ...
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