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... ken bodies lay strewn across the ice, where snow fell like ash. The storm had quieted—but not in peace. It was the stillness that follows catastrophe. Among the wreckage, he lay still.
Ishigo.
His body was a ruin—torn, bleeding, barely clinging to life. His vision had dulled, the world reduced to shapes and shadows. And then—a voice, slithering into his fractured mind.
"You are nothing, Ishigo. No one loves you."
It wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. It slid into ...
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