The scream did not fade.
It multiplied.
It rippled outward through the fractures, not as sound alone, but as a vibration that clawed through bone, memory, and instinct. Entire layers of reality shuddered in response, folding and unfolding like a wounded lung struggling to breathe.
Elara dropped to one knee.
The thread around her wrists burned white-hot, no longer merely bound to her it was anchored. Whatever she had touched, whatever she had awakened, had marked her as its axis.
Draven caught her before she hit the fractured stone, arms locking around her as another violent tremor split the platform beneath their feet.
“Stay with me,” he said fiercely, pressing his forehead to hers. “Look at me.”
She forced her eyes open.
The world behind him was unraveling.
The Archivist spun err
