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... ng with quiet confidence within his dantian as he stepped into the new day.
Twelve petals.
The number was meaningless to others, a detail lost in the quiet breath of the mountain winds, but to Necro, each petal was a history, a story of collapse and rebuilding, of pain embraced and understanding gained.
It was the sound of the river's flow beneath the cliffs, the whisper of the pines above, the soft rustle of the wind across the grass.
It was the rhythm of evoluti ...
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