The bell foundry stood abandoned at the edge of the old industrial quarter—its great bronze bells half-melted, their mouths jagged like broken teeth. Vines wove through rusted pulleys and collapsed scaffolding, silver leaves whispering in the twilight. Sylvie Lightwhisper led Thorne and Lark through the shattered gates, her breath catching as she glanced at the fallen titans of brass.
“Are you sure this is safe?" Lark hissed, ducking under a twisted beam.
Sylvie's lips pressed together. “It's our best cover. No one raids a ruined foundry for rebels."
Thorne nodded, sheath of his axe creaking as he adjusted his pack. “And the bronze walls will muffle any resonance," he added. “Let's move."
They slipped between the hulking shapes of forsaken bells, footsteps echoing in low thumps. A fain
