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**Where shattered realms bleed into twilight...** (etched in smoldering amber via charcoal smudge, captured under flickering neon light). The world fractures where old gods slumber—their dreams birthing storms that scorch the sky. Cities cling to canyon bones, their spires clawing at smoke-choked clouds. You tread ash-stained streets, a relic blade humming with forgotten tongues. Whispers coil from rusted grates: a rebel queen’s ghost pleads for a crown drowned in lava seas. Rot spreads through the clockwork heart of the capital—gears stutter, bleeding black oil. Survive the markets where merchants trade memories for vials of starlight. Trust the scars on your palm; they glow when lies take breath. The tomb of the first king stirs—its doors sealed with a chord only the deaf can hear. Strike it, and weep for what answers.
