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...

He no longer asked how many years had passed. What had once felt like eternity now moved like breath—slow, quiet, necessary.

He could not wield magic.

Not yet.

Not until his five trees completed his transformation.

But he could shape runes.

And over time, those runes became his language—his hammer and chisel, his fire and clay.

He etched them into stone, into thread, into concepts not meant for symbols.

He combined emotion with form ...

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