Nihil did not laugh after biting the bell.
That was the first blade beneath the cloth.
The thing sealed at my side had always sounded amused when it wanted to be dangerous. Mockery was easier to survive than silence. Mockery had rhythm. Mockery gave the enemy a shape.
Silence meant hunger had stopped pretending to be conversation.
Black fragments rained through the Garden subroot passage. Each piece of the cracked bell dissolved before touching the floor, leaving wet marks on the root-walls like ink spilled under skin. Elara's vines recoiled from every stain. Seraphina's barrier trembled once, not from weakness, but from recognition.
Holy light disliked what Nihil had done.
Good. I could work with that.
That made two of us.
