The spiral pulsed brighter, each ring of light blooming beneath their feet before fading, leaving behind a faint afterglow like embers that refused to die.
Kaito's hand brushed against his thigh, fingers twitching toward the hilt of his blade before he stopped himself. A weapon here wouldn't matter. He could feel it—the same way he felt the weight of the Reaver inside his skin. This place was older than weapons, older than names.
The shadow in the center of the chamber curled and uncurled like smoke caught in a jar. It didn't move toward them, but it didn't need to. Its presence filled the space, bending it.
Nyra shifted her stance slightly, one foot edging back, the other pressing into the floor as if to anchor herself. Her voice was low, but steady.
"It's not attacking."
"Not yet," Kaito said.
