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... arrhythmic — the sound of lungs working harder than they should. Multiple sets, overlapping, coming from a depression in the swamp floor thirty paces ahead, hidden by chest-high reeds that Genesis Bloom had fattened overnight.

He stopped. Planted the Shepherd’s Stick.

The gem pulsed. Once. Twice. A slow, warm heartbeat of golden-red light that pushed through the morning mist like a lantern through fog. The light didn’t flicker. It radiated — steady, patient, the visual equivalent ...

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