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... gaze fixed on the two small figures nestled in Sapphira's arms. Unreadable at first—distant, detached—but with each passing heartbeat, something began to shift. The air grew taut with tension, as though all the trees and stones and souls around them held their breath.

Slowly, Asher rose from the boulder. Sunlight carved the contours of his bare torso—taut muscle shaped not by vanity but by necessity, by years of battle and burden. He extended his hand, wordlessly.

Sapphira steppe ...

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