The tolling bells ceased their mournful rhythm, replaced by a silence so absolute it felt like a physical weight pressing against the cold stones of the cathedral. Valerius did not hurry. He moved with the languid, predatory grace of an entity that owned the passage of time itself. He held the gilded box. The prison for Malphas’s final, desperate resonance, with the tenderness of a collector handling a rare gem.
"Do you hear it, Malphas?" Valerius murmured, his golden eyes sweeping the rafters where Malphas’s consciousness swirled like thinning smoke. "The city does not mourn. It adapts. It is already learning to love its new masters."
Outside, the citizens of Oakhaven were crawling out of their homes. They saw the statues. The animated history of their ancestors, standing perfectly stil
