The silence that descended upon Oakhaven was not the oppressive, suffocating quiet of the Architect’s reign. It was the soft, tentative hush of a city that had forgotten how to breathe on its own. Above ground, the sun hit the cathedral spires with a clarity that seemed to bleach the memory of the violet mist from the cobblestones. The blacksmith sat on the edge of the cistern entrance, his blistered hands resting on his knees, watching the water ripple against the newly cleansed stone.
Beside him, the girl, Elara, peered into the dark, churning depths where the void-liquid had been purged. The roar of the draining abyss had faded into a rhythmic gurgle of natural spring water, but the air remained charged, like the stillness before a massive thunderstorm.
"They are truly gone," Elara wh
