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High atop the mountain, in the quiet stillness before dawn, Shade awoke to the distant cry of a hawk piercing the darkened sky. The cool stone beneath him felt ancient, worn smooth by countless generations standing at this sacred place—the threshing floor. Beside him lay Caled, the device he instinctively knew but could not yet fully comprehend. Its strange engravings shimmered faintly under starlight, alien symbols whispering a forgotten language he could not yet decipher. He lifted it carefully, feeling a deep pulse, like a heartbeat, resonating with his own. Exiled, abandoned, Shade descended from the sacred mountaintop into the dense, uncharted forest below. Trees closed around him, welcoming him into their embrace, shadows and moonlight weaving intricate patterns on the ground. As he reached the heart of the woods, exhausted and uncertain, he stopped beside a gently murmuring brook, its surface perfectly still, reflecting the delicate crescent of a waxing moon. Shade hesitated,