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Prologue Not all stories begin when someone decides to tell them. Some begin when something crosses over. There are no footsteps. No warnings. Just a faint sensation, almost imperceptible- like when the air shifts weight before a storm. The world carries on. Lights still work. People keep walking. Tea still cools on tables. But something no longer fits. There are names that shouldn't be written... and yet, they appear. Signatures that are neither promises nor mistakes. Objects that don't shine to be seen, but to be recognized. Sometimes, fighters believe they do it for money. Others think it's pride. Some say it's survival. The truth is more uncomfortable. There are bodies that endure impossible blows because they don't fully belong to a single plane. There are eyes that don't flinch at death because they've felt it closely- and not just once. And there are silences that are not peace... but waiting. When shadows move on their own, it's not because they're alive. It's because someone is calling them. And when a door opens where no door should exist, it's not an accident. It's a delay that finally ended. This is not a story about heroes. Nor about villains. Not even about choices. It is the record of what happens when the world thinks everything is still normal- but already signed something it can't remember. And Anaray... still doesn't know what she accepted. She only knows one thing: If she hadn't left that night, something far worse would have learned her name.

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