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... , etching symbols that pulsed faintly with light.
It was no longer about resistance or fear.
It was about becoming.
And tomorrow, they would go back to the cave. Back to the tree. Back to the black roots that had whispered the first verse of the song.
Because now, they were ready to sing back.
They returned to the cave as the sun hovered high, the sky above so blue it hurt to look at. The light poured through the trees in thick golden shafts, and the islan ...
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