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... like dying embers.
I walk the thread of twilight’s edge,
where echoes of fate murmur in riddles.
Death lingers, a whispering tide,
a hush before the storm of rebirth.
Not into the silence of forgotten names,
but into a world where the sky burns red.
The wind howls of ruin to come,
a month’s grace before the earth shatters.
Steel and ash, hunger and blood—
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