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... , the whispering thick in the air like a mist he could feel against his skin. The shard atop the pedestal pulsed, its dark gleam casting jagged reflections against the walls. Rolf circled wide, fists raised loosely but ready, his body tense.
The closer Miles got, the louder the whispers became. They were not words anymore, but screams layered beneath ancient songs, memories buried under aeons of rot.
He reached out a hand, and the moment his fingers brushed the air above the shar ...
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