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... h of held breath. The air felt heavier than dew, as if time itself had lowered its voice.

For the first time in living memory, no songbirds trilled before the sun’s edge kissed the treetops. The orchard wasn’t afraid. It was listening.

Tian Shen had awoken before dawn, not from a dream, but from the distinct sensation of being remembered. As though something older than him, older than the orchard, had whispered his name across the bark of every tree.

He walked barefoot to ...

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