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The bells began before the light. They rang from the tower above the citadel, a low, sonorous toll that rolled through stone and marrow alike. Emil woke to it with a start, heart already racing, though he had not truly slept. His body was restless, haunted by dreams that felt more like echoes—whispers slipping through him like threads of cold smoke. *Wake. Wake. The seal calls. The blade waits. Wake.* He sat up on his cot, breath shallow. Around him, the dormitory stirred alive. The other initiates jerked from uneasy sleep, muttering curses or prayers beneath their breath. Some dressed quickly, fumbling with their leather tunics and boots, while others lingered, as if buying time might stall the inevitable. None spoke loudly. The air was too thick, the bells too heavy. The tolling carr
- Writer
