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... came after war—deep, heavy, and absolute.

But even in that stillness, something clawed at him.

Something he had forgotten.

And when the dream came, it wasn’t of goals or stadium lights.

It was of a figure waiting under trees.

Tress.

Julian jolted awake, sweat beading across his face, his shirt clinging to his skin. His chest rose and fell as if he had just sprinted the length of the pitch.

"...Damn." He rubbed his temple. He had forgotten. ...

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