The silence between us was suffocating. I could feel it, thick in the air, pulling tighter with every passing second. My heartbeat was too loud, my breath shallow, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on my chest. The events of the past few days—the revelations, the betrayals—had left me raw, exposed. And yet, as much as I tried to hold everything in, it all felt so fragile, so easily shattered. I kept my distance, my body rigid, my every muscle fighting against the desire to collapse under the pressure. The blade, still in my hand, felt like a lifeline. A reminder of what had happened, what was still happening. The Prophet had given me this—this weight, this curse, this truth—but it was one I had never wanted. I could hear footsteps approaching from behind, slow and deliberate, like the sound of inevitability
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