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... s stiff, fingers still sore from yesterday’s failures—but it was the thudding in his chest that truly pulled him from restless sleep. Shame, fear, and something else—fire—churned inside him. He sat on the edge of the small cot provided in the illusory blacksmith village, staring down at his hands.

"Trash. That’s all you’ve made."

The old man’s words echoed with cruel clarity.

He could still see the half-melted mess he’d created yesterday. Misshapen, warped, and brittle in ...

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