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Alawode wasn’t the kind of man people noticed twice. He moved quietly through crowded streets, dressed simply, speaking little. But in certain circles whispered conversations in dim rooms, hushed mentions between desperate people his name carried weight.
They called him a caster.
Not the theatrical kind with chants and smoke for show, but something older, quieter. His power wasn’t loud. It didn’t crackle in the air. It settled into things, bent them gently, like a current beneath still water.... Mehr lesen