17. Peril
Peril hides in every crack. The buildings are not stable. The ground is not still. Magic pulses in unpredictable waves. A pebble dropped in the wrong place can trigger a flash of necrotic bloomlight, a brief flare of ghostfire that burns memory instead of flesh. Even time is untrustworthy here. Clocks wind themselves backward. Shadows move in reverse. One man aged twenty years overnight. His last words: “It came back. The first day. It won’t let go.”
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