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Before there were words, before there were mantras, before the world understood itself as the world—there was a spiral.
The spiral is not written by hand, nor carved with intention. It emerges from the smallest gap between light and darkness, curling, expanding, then disappearing into a center that no one can ever touch.
In the world of Fitran, the spiral is the first breath of all meaning. Every root of a tree, the trace of the wind, even the veins in a human pal ...
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