The dead speak louder than the living.
My name is Mirek. They call me the Bone Collector.
I walk the borderlands where flesh fades but bones remain, telling stories no one dares to hear.
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I collect what others abandon—fragments of broken lives, shattered promises, and secrets buried beneath dust and blood.
Bones don't lie. They don't hide.
They bleed truth.
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The Gate's hunger is growing. It feasts on flesh, but it's the bones that bind the world together.
I've seen the fractures.
The cracks that run deeper than skin.
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They say I'm cursed because I talk to the dead.
Maybe they're right.
But the dead are the only ones who tell me what's real.
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Last moon, I found a skeleton draped in ash, clutching a shattered hourglass.
Time itself fractures in this place.
And I am its unwilling witness.
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I carry my burdens in a sack of bones and silence.
Because sometimes, silence is the loudest scream.
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The Gate's shadow grows longer.
And the bones whisper.