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... second sitting in normalcy, and the next he was staring down a goddamn apocalypse kit sprawled across his bed like it belonged there.
The air had that low hum. Not loud, not dramatic—just soft, unsettling, like the world had leaned in to whisper something it knew would change him. And then bam—content, outta thin fuckin' air. No fade-in, no glowing lights, no fanfare. Just... presence.
Like the memory of some lost war chest had forced itself back into reality because he existed ...
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