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... ftop, arms folded, expression cold.

He was watching them carry Rehan's coffin through the village.

The procession moved like a slow, aching wound.

Every breath was thick with something unspoken—grief, guilt, regret, maybe all three.

The air was biting, but the torches in the hands of the men at the front flickered defiantly against it, their flames casting long shadows on the dusty road.

Music followed them.

A Dhol. A Tasha. A Shenai.

Worn- ...

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