, the shadows in the "Midnight Realm" weren't just black—they were a void that felt physically heavy. He watched his own youth mirrored back at him: the feeling of being buried alive, the terror of a life unlived. Suddenly, the video glitched. A macroblock of bright static froze over the protagonist's chest. Owen leaned in. Inside the digital artifacting, he didn't see a rendering error. He saw a faint, rhythmic pulsing. The metadata of the file began to scroll across the bottom of the screen like a frantic subtitle:

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