Light swallowed the chamber.
It wasn’t clean light. It was old—white at the core, but edged with a deep, bleeding red that crawled up the walls like veins. The chains tightened around Aria’s wrists, ankles, throat, not cutting, just holding. Binding. Each link was cold enough to burn, and with every second the pull on her got heavier, like the weight of the entire ruin was settling on her shoulders.
“Darian!” Kieran shouted, stepping forward, sword up.
“Don’t,” Aria said. Her voice was hoarse, but it cut through the noise. “If you touch the chains, it’ll take you too.”
The Debt watched from below the dais, faceless head tilted. “Good. She understands.”
Darian ignored it. He was at the edge of the dais now, hands braced against the invisible pressure pushing him back. His face was pal
