The air hung thick and sweet, like overripe mangoes. Amara wiped sweat from her brow, her hand leaving a muddy streak. The midday sun beat down on the dusty village of Dhulibari, baking the terracotta earth a harsh orange. She was twelve, all elbows and knees, with eyes that mirrored the deep, ancient well she was staring into.
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The Chronarium’s Secret
The rusted gates of the Blackwood Mansion groaned in protest as Leo, the self-proclaimed leader, pushed them open. Behind him, Maya, the tech whiz, fiddled with a device that resembled a bulky wristwatch, its screen flickering with an array of colors. Sam, the quiet observer, trailed behind, his large eyes absorbing every detail of the overgrown path leading to the looming, shadowed edifice.
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