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... ir, a phantom wail that refused to fade even after her charred remains were nothing but ash scattered by the wind. Aira was deeply traumatized. She could still see it—the way the flames licked at the frail body, the way her flesh blackened and curled, the way the villagers cheered, their faces twisted in cruel excitement as if they were enjoying some grand festival. The horror of it all gnawed at her, poisoning her thoughts like a festering wound.

She barely ate. She barely spoke. When h ...

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