The bells did not stop.
They scread.
A hundred throats of bronze and iron clashed together in a discordant frenzy that vibrated through the floorboards, up the legs of the bed, and into Celestia’s bones.
The single window rattled violently.
The glass groaned as though sothing outside was knocking with impatient hunger.
The fog pressed against the pane with unnatural closeness.
Thicker.
Darker.
Alive.
Celestia’s eyes snapped fully open.
Moonlight pooled within them like liquid starlight.
Her hand, still resting against Drazeil’s bare chest, tightened hard enough to leave faint marks on his skin.
The air felt wrong.
Heavy.
Cold.
As though the fog had sohow entered the room and wrapped itself around their lungs.
Every breath tasted of damp earth and copper.
"It’s here," she whispered again.
Her voice carried sothing ancient beneath it.
Sothing vast.
Sothing that was not entirely hers.
Drazeil was already moving.
In one fluid motion he rolled out of bed and reached for the dagger hidden beneath his pillow.
The blade caught the silver glow spilling from Celestia’s skin.
"Stay close."
His voice was low.
Commanding.
Dangerously calm.
Celestia scrambled after him, her linen nightdress tangling around her legs.
There was no ti to change.
No ti to think.
The bells continued screaming.
The entire village felt as though it was waking from a nightmare only to enter a worse one.
Together they burst through the cottage door.
And stepped directly into chaos.
The streets of Wrenhollow were drowning in fog.
Doors hung open.
So broken.
So splintered.
Others swinging uselessly in the windless night.
Villagers wandered through the streets.
Barefoot.
Expressionless.
Eyes glassy and unfocused.
Like sleepwalkers answering a silent call.
A woman shuffled past them.
Her face completely blank.
Dark tendrils curled around her ankles.
Pulling.
Guiding.
Leading her toward the deepest part of the fog.
"No!"
Celestia thrust out her hand.
Silver light exploded from her palm.
Threads of moonlight lashed forward.
One wrapped around the woman’s waist and violently yanked her backward.
The woman collapsed onto the muddy street.
Her eyes blinked.
Then widened.
As if waking from a dream.
"What... happened?"
But there was no ti to answer.
More villagers were moving.
A young father carried a sleeping child over his shoulder.
The child’s arm hung limply.
Fog tendrils rose eagerly from the ground.
They wrapped around the child’s ankle.
The father never noticed.
The child never woke.
Drazeil moved.
Fast.
Violent.
His dagger flashed.
A thick tendril split apart with a wet hiss.
Black ichor sprayed across his chest.
The liquid stead where it touched his skin.
The sll was foul.
Rotten.
Wrong.
"Celestia!"
His voice cut through the bells.
"Anchor them!"
She nodded.
Moonlight surged from her body again.
A barrier of silver light erupted around a cluster of villagers.
Several gasped as the spell broke whatever influence controlled them.
But the effort cost her.
Pain exploded behind her eyes.
Silver blood dripped from her nose.
Her hands trembled.
The bells grew louder.
Angrier.
Almost as though they hated her interference.
Then the fog shifted.
Sothing erged.
Tall.
Far too tall.
Thin.
Far too thin.
The sa silhouette Drazeil had seen outside the cottage window.
Its head tilted.
Then it smiled.
That sa impossible smile.
And lunged.
Drazeil t it head-on.
The dagger plunged into what should have been its chest.
The creature shrieked.
Not with sound.
With vibration.
The entire street shook.
A shadow limb slamd into Drazeil’s ribs.
Blood exploded from the wound.
"Drazeil!"
Fear flashed through Celestia’s voice.
Real fear.
He ignored it.
Twisting the blade deeper.
The creature dissolved into smoke.
But another tendril lashed across his shoulder.
A deep gash opened instantly.
The dagger cracked.
Then shattered.
The broken blade fell into the mud.
More tendrils surged forward.
Wrapping around his wrist.
Trying to drain him.
Trying to consu him.
Drazeil snarled.
His hand shot toward the cottage doorway.
Toward the weapon resting inside.
His fingers closed around a familiar hilt.
And the world seed to shudder.
Soul Drinker.
The ancient blade erged slowly.
Dark.
Beautiful.
Terrifying.
Runes glowed along its surface.
Violet light pulsed through the steel.
The surrounding fog recoiled imdiately.
As though afraid.
"As expected," Drazeil muttered.
The sword humd hungrily.
Like a predator waking from sleep.
He swung.
The blade tore through shadow.
The creature scread.
Its form collapsed into black ash.
But the sword did not rely destroy.
It consud.
Violet light surged through the runes.
The creature’s essence flowed directly into the blade.
Then into Drazeil.
His wounds sealed.
His strength returned.
His eyes darkened.
The villagers gasped.
Several stumbled backward in fear.
The sword was no ordinary weapon.
It was a legend.
A monster disguised as steel.
"Stay back."
His voice sounded deeper now.
Older.
"It eats."
Then the ground exploded.
More tendrils erupted everywhere.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
They wrapped around villagers.
Legs.
Waists.
Throats.
A woman scread as she was lifted into the air.
Then—
Gone.
Vanished into the fog.
Silence.
Drazeil watched.
Expressionless.
Cold.
His sword remained lowered.
He made no move to save her.
Another villager disappeared.
Then another.
A child scread.
Tiny fingers clawed desperately at the muddy street.
His mother reached for him.
Crying.
Begging.
The tendrils dragged him toward the fog.
"Drazeil!"
Celestia turned toward him.
"What are you doing?!"
His gaze remained fixed ahead.
Calculating.
Unmoved.
"Survival."
Her eyes widened.
"They’re dying!"
"People die."
The words hit harder than any blade.
Cold.
Flat.
rciless.
Like he had spoken a simple fact.
Nothing more.
The child scread again.
His mother collapsed to her knees.
Crying.
Begging.
Praying.
Still—
Drazeil did not move.
Sothing inside Celestia snapped.
Moonlight erupted around her body.
Silver light burst from beneath her skin.
And before she could stop herself—
She slapped him.
Hard.
CRACK.
The sound echoed across the village.
Louder than the bells.
For a mont—
Everything froze.
The child.
The villagers.
Even the fog itself.
Drazeil’s head turned slightly from the impact.
Silence followed.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
He looked back at her.
His green eye twitching to turn red, but he was trying real hard to control himself.
The transformation was gradual.
Terrifying.
Ancient power rolled from him like a storm.
The temperature plumted.
Frost ford across nearby windows.
Several villagers imdiately fell to their knees.
One old man began trembling.
"The Infernal King’s eye..."
Soone else started praying.
Nobody dared breathe.
Drazeil stared at Celestia.
Dangerous.
Monstrous.
The kind of gaze that had once made entire kingdoms surrender.
Yet Celestia refused to move.
Refused to look away.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
But she stood her ground.
Silver light blazed around her.
Moonlight spilled from her eyes.
"Move."
Her voice trembled with anger.
And sothing older.
Sothing divine.
"You don’t get to choose who lives."
For the first ti—
Drazeil looked shocked.
Not angry.
Not murderous.
Shocked.
As though he had heard those exact words before.
Long ago.
A mory flashed.
Red Divine wings.
Moonlight.
A woman smiling.
Then—
The child scread.
Everyone turned.
The fog split open.
Like a curtain being pulled aside.
Sothing enormous stared back.
A single pale eye opened within the darkness.
Watching.
Waiting.
Hungry.
And sowhere deep within the fog—
Sothing smiled.
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