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... kind of stillness that wrapped around your spine like a noose, silent, coiled, ’waiting’. The war room was abandoned for the night—candles long since burned down, the hearth cold, scrolls curled in exhaustion on the oak desk—but still, it watched him.

He hadn’t moved for minutes now.

Because something was moving inside him.

Not muscle.

Not mana.

Something deeper.

Something older.

And the golden glow of the system interface—ethereal, pulsin ...

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