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... oice. The aurora no longer drifted like light painted across glass—it pulsed in great, resonant waves, a tide of color bending toward the climbers as if acknowledging them.
Then came the first chord.
It was not a sound so much as a pressure, a weight of resonance that shook the woven path beneath their feet. The song of freed voices fractured, not silenced, but re-shaped—drawn upward into a single vast harmony.
Roselia staggered, stars flaring wildly around her. "It’s not ...
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