The bells had not rung in days.Not in Arath Tal. Not anywhere.
Far from the Holy Quarter where Prexie Echo had whispered warnings to deaf gods, a different silence stirred — heavier, stranger, and no longer confined to chapels or cloisters.
Angela stood beneath the arch of blackstone that had once marked the edge of a nameless village. Now it was a mouth — not open, not closed. Simply waiting.
The southern road stretched beyond, winding into mist-veiled fields where old flags had rotted and trade routes no longer bore names. And on that road, a procession approached — quiet, deliberate, and without banner.
Merchants.Not an army. Not a caravan. Just five wagons and a dozen people, walking behind them like mourners at a wake they weren't sure had happened.
Angela did not summon guards.
It wasnt needed anymore.
The gates no longer creaked.
