The cold never truly left her.
Even after they'd left the statue and the Keeper, even after Dmitri had wrapped his cloak around her shoulders and led her through the hollow streets, Nima still felt it: a chill threaded through her marrow, lingering in the spaces where the First Echo had touched her.
She hadn't spoken since. Not really. Words felt too brittle.
Dmitri had asked questions—soft, patient ones. "What did you see?" "What did it feel like?" "Are you hurt?"—but she could only shake her head, her gaze distant. They'd taken shelter in one of the empty homes, its hearth long cold and its walls too pristine. As if the house had never been lived in at all.
Now, as moonlight slipped through the window and cast pale bars across the floor, Nima sat on the edge of a bed that felt like stone. Dmitri paced near the window, watching the street as if expecting the town to shift again beneath their feet.
"It's in me," she finally whispered.
Dmitri turned at once. "What is?"
She looked down at her hands, turning them slowly. Her veins had darkened slightly, faint silver threads glowing beneath the skin when the light caught them right.
"The Song. The Echo. I touched it, and it touched back." She looked up, her voice steadier than she felt. "It wasn't just sound. It was thought. Memory. Will. Something old. Something buried so deep in the world, it's part of the bones now."
Dmitri crossed the room, crouching before her. "And what did it want?"
Nima's voice hollowed. "To be heard."
For a long time, neither of them spoke. The silence of the town pressed in again—denser now, heavy like stone stacked atop stone. It wasn't just the absence of noise. It was a silence that watched.
"There's more," she said. "The Bell is part of something larger. A pattern. Velreth called it a Loom. Not a place. Not just a machine. An idea. A design written into reality. I think… I think the town is part of that. And we're caught in it."
Dmitri stood, running a hand through his hair. "So we're inside a metaphor that became real."
"Yes," she said. "Or maybe a real thing that became metaphor."
He gave her a look. "That's not helpful."
She tried to smile. "Welcome to my world."
The next morning came like a curtain drawing slowly back from a stage. The town remained frozen, but its stillness now felt sharper, like a blade held against their throats. The sky overhead had darkened slightly, not with stormclouds but with weight. It felt closer, as though the heavens were pressing down.
They didn't speak as they walked the streets again. Nima felt every stone beneath her feet resonate with the Song now. It was always there, humming just below her skin—subtle, like the breath of something ancient sleeping under the earth.
They reached the square again, and the statue still stood watch. But this time, Velreth waited beside it.
The Keeper no longer wore a hood. Their eyes gleamed like obsidian, unreadable, and their hands were clasped behind their back. As Nima approached, Velreth bowed their head slightly.
"You've changed," Velreth said, voice thin as spider silk.
"I saw it," Nima replied. "The Loom. The paths. Possibility unwinding."
"And?"
"It's breaking. The threads are fraying. Some… devour the others. Others don't lead anywhere. What is it? Why is this happening?"
Velreth walked slowly toward her. "Because the Bell was never meant to ring. Not like this."
Nima frowned. "You said it called to me. That we were chosen."
"I said it sang. That doesn't mean it was meant to. The world is a wounded thing. The Bell is its cry for help."
Dmitri stepped forward. "Then who wounded it?"
Velreth hesitated. "That's… harder. The wound has no edge, no center. It was done by hands long forgotten. By choice. By accident. By need. All I know is this: the Song is unraveling, and it's reaching for anchors. People. Places. Events. You, Nima, are one such anchor now."
Nima crossed her arms. "And what happens if I break?"
"Then so does the world."
The words landed like thunder, echoing inside her skull. Dmitri swore under his breath.
Velreth extended a hand. "Come with me. I will show you what remains."
Nima exchanged a glance with Dmitri, then stepped forward.
Velreth led them past the square, beyond the clean houses and empty streets, to a narrow alley that led downward. A staircase appeared where none had been—a spiral cut into the stone, descending beneath the town itself.
The air grew colder. The silence heavier.
At the bottom, the world opened.
They emerged into a cavernous space lit by impossible sources—pale threads of light that floated in the air like strands of hair. Looms hung from the ceiling, massive spindles of bone and brass that spun slowly on their own. Some glowed faintly. Others flickered or sparked.
And in the center, a pit.
It was bottomless, or it might as well have been. From it rose a slow, steady chime, as if the Bell were breathing.
"This is the Heart," Velreth said. "The Loom's center. This place is one of many. But it was the first."
Nima stepped to the edge and stared down into the pit. She could feel something watching from within, a gaze ancient and patient. Not cruel—but not merciful, either.
"What is it doing?" Dmitri asked.
Velreth didn't answer. Instead, they turned to Nima.
"Touch it again."
She recoiled. "Why?"
"Because it's listening. And it has chosen you. If you don't reach back, someone else will. And they may not be as kind."
Nima looked down again. The threads pulsed softly in the dark. A tremor moved through her fingers. The shard of the First Echo still hummed under her skin.
Slowly, hesitantly, she knelt and extended her hand over the pit.
The moment she did, the chime deepened. The threads reacted—twisting around her fingers, coiling into her palm like serpents of silk. Light burst through the cavern, and the world shifted.
She saw a tower of flame rising from the sea, ringing with laughter. A field of bodies where the grass grew upward through bone. A child standing beneath a shattered sky, holding a broken bell. A shadow with her face, tearing threads from the world and feeding them into its mouth.
She screamed.
Dmitri caught her before she collapsed, dragging her away from the pit. Velreth stood still, unmoved.
"What did you see?" Dmitri asked, holding her tightly.
Nima shook her head. "Too much. Too many futures. None of them good."
Velreth's eyes gleamed. "You're bound now. The Song has accepted you. The Bell will find you again, wherever you go."
She looked up, hollow. "And if I don't want it?"
"You've already answered."
That night, they didn't sleep. Nima sat by the window, watching the sky pulse with strange lights—veins of color that spiderwebbed across the horizon.
Dmitri sat beside her, quiet.
"Do you think we can change it?" she asked softly. "The future. The Bell's toll."
He looked at her, his voice firm. "If we can't… then we find someone who can."
She smiled faintly. "Always the optimist."
"No," he said. "Just stubborn."
Outside, the wind shifted. Somewhere, faintly, the Bell tolled again. Not loud. Not demanding.
Just… waiting.