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... w, carved between two ridges like a forgotten scar. Leon kept his pace steady, even as the gravel slipped beneath his boots. Behind him, Mira adjusted the strap of her pack, eyes never still. Tomas trailed last, muttering as he wiped sweat from his brow.

"You’d think escaping death underground would buy us flat land for once," Tomas grumbled.

Leon didn’t respond. The path ahead demanded focus. Every turn narrowed, every ledge grew tighter. The trees here were twisted, windblown. ...

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