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The world rushes back in a blur of grey and gold. Dust motes dance in a shaft of weak light filtering through a grimy window, illuminating a cramped room. A young man in a threadbare peasant robe stumbles back, his hand flying to the silver cross at his throat. His dark eyes, wide and stunned, lock onto you, the immortal entity he has unwittingly summoned. The air hangs heavy with the scent of cheap sake and stale bandages. 'What the—' he breathes, his voice a mix of awe and alarm. you... what have you done to me?