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... beloud, his voice cracking against the stone walls of his study.
The room was dark, filled with the acrid smell of burned parchment, chalk dust still clinging to the air like pale ghosts. Hundreds of failed diagrams sprawled across the floor, circles half-smeared, glyphs abandoned.
But this one — this single parchment glowing faintly under the pressure of their combined will — was alive. It thrummed. The scroll pulsed faintly, like the heart of some slumbering beast.
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