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... ty—as if every stone and every gate held its own place and rhythm. Sylphia walked alongside her mother, captivated by the shimmering alleys that seemed to lead them not merely through space, but through a living story.
The white tiles paving the streets shimmered with a gentle glow. Every few steps, they shifted hue, reacting subtly to the presence of passersby. Above the rooftops, intricate protective formations pulsed like living structures. Children laughed as they ran between fountai ...
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