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The curse in his arm was supposed to be the price of a single, long-ago sin—a debt he carried alone, at the edge of a world that no longer had room for him. But the forest he swore to protect is stirring with a new wound, and the sound of iron striking iron echoes once more from the ruins of the Tatara Works, where it should never be heard again. Fresh axe-marks in the sacred cedars. Footprints that do not belong. A deepening silence where the Kodama should sing. Something—or someone—is moving
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