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... m siege.
But from presence.
The Warden Throne didn’t walk. He glided, hovering inches above the ground, arms bound in runic chains. His mask was blank, featureless, like porcelain carved by a blind god.
Around him, the world slowed.
Guards froze mid-step. Birds halted in the sky. The rain stopped falling—held midair like scattered glass.
Aya cursed under her breath. "He’s locking spacetime threads."
Mira gripped her system relay. "He’s rewriting an ...
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