Nekopo padded forward, her paws leaving luminous paw‑prints that faded as quickly as they appeared. The crystal glowed brighter as she approached, recognizing the ancient bloodline that ran through her—descendants of the legendary , guardians of narrative balance.

Nekopo’s tail twitched. She understood more than she could ever speak.

Obaachan listened, her expression serene, as the autumn night deepened outside. When Aki finished, the old lady nodded, satisfied. "The story is good. The spellbook is yours."

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