The words didn't show in the air this time. They slid through my head like a quiet breath.
You have resonated with [Nestbreaker]
[Comprehension: 5%]
"Hehe… you no-name witch," I whispered, shaky but excited. "You weren't blocking it. You can't. Your trick can't handle what's bigger than you. Hehehe. That's why you glitch."
I forced my breathing to slow until the buzzing in my hands chilled out. Okay. Brain, stay with me. Say it out loud so I don't forget.
"Anchor, not room," I muttered. "The bell is the anchor. It sets a beat. If I follow the beat, I obey. If I fall off-beat, I can say no."
That fake calm I felt when I first arrived… that was the bell syncing with my body. My mistake was listening. My win was breathing on my own rhythm. Also, I'm pretty sure my Rune nudges my aura sense a bit, because I felt the influence fast. Or I'm paranoid. Either way, I'll take the W.
"Hmmm… okay. I can go off-beat with breath," I said. "What else?"
I crouched by the half-buried bell. Bone and woven hair, sunk in black mud. No rope, no chain. It didn't shine; it drank light like a depressed sponge.
"Alright. Basic protection first. I should be able to do that now."
I exhaled, and a thin film slid over my skin, like fog on glass. Success. Body reinforcement: baby's first mystic skill.
Then I almost flinched. The feeling was… wrong. Creepy. Like someone whispering into my pores. Probably the nature of [Nestbreaker]. Not friendly. Not soft. Great. My vibe is "cursed hand lotion."
"Good," I said. "Unpleasant, but good."
The fog around the basin shifted. A child-shaped figure stood at the rim, head tilted. No face. Then another. Then three more. Fan club, fantastic.
"Eat," said the woman behind me, voice warm like a hug and tight like a dog leash.
"Later," I said, and pressed my palm on the bell.
Cold. Then heat. Then pressure, like a command trying to slide into my bones. My aura film wrinkled where it touched the bell. I felt the room's rhythm creeping in through my hand like a bad roommate.
"No," I said, and pushed back.
I had no real technique. Just a very dumb idea and a name. I pictured my aura like grit—like a smear that ruins polish. I shoved that smear into the bell where bone met my skin.
A shiver ran up my wrist. The bell's inner pattern pushed back. Circles inside circles. Instructions carved into bone. It tried to smooth me. I tried to scuff it.
"Defilement," I said quietly, while cringing inside. Worst move-name ever. Placeholder. We'll fix it later.
The resistance changed. Not louder—rougher. Teeth on a plate. My palm prickled. The children's little bells shook silently, trying to drag my pulse back on beat.
In for four. Out for six. My rhythm, not theirs.
The bell's pattern slipped a little.
You have resonated with [Nestbreaker]
[Comprehension: 5% → 12%]
Then came the bill. Dull ache behind the eyes. Chest pinched for half a second. Hi, cost. We've met.
"On contact," I told myself. "Costs energy. Only where I touch."
I pushed again. Not smart. Just steady. Aura as grit in a seam. The bell twitched under my hand like a tiny gear went crooked.
You have resonated with [Nestbreaker]
[Comprehension: 12% → 18%]
The woman stepped into my peripheral vision. Layers of cloth moving wrong. Face blurred like a rumor. She lifted a hand toward the back of my neck, aiming for that cheat-code spot that makes a body obey.
"Eat," she said, close enough for the air to carry the word.
I let her touch.
Her fingers were cold, then warm, then neither. The command slid through the touch, smooth and practiced.
I slid my free hand up and pressed my palm against her wrist. Aura to not-quite-skin. Contact.
That same wrongness bloomed there—small but stubborn. Her hand trembled once. The word thinned.
You have resonated with [Nestbreaker]
[Comprehension: 18% → 25%]
My vision fuzzed at the edges. Drain dug its little claws in. Breath tried to rabbit. Knees considered surrender.
"Not now. Not now," I told my meat suit. "We die later."
I took another slow breath and pressed into the bell again. Not harder—steadier. I imagined a hairline crack. Pretend it exists until it does. Aura like sand in a hinge.
The bell's pattern slipped again. The children's giggles turned thin and wooden. The "kitchen" tried to drop over the basin and failed. Tile without corners. A stove with no back. A window frame with no glass. The prayer flag twitched once and pretended not to.
"Come on," I whispered to the anchor. "Break your own song."
It didn't break. It staggered.
You have resonated with [Nestbreaker]
[Comprehension: 25% → 33%]
She pressed harder on my neck, clean and efficient. The command rode her fingers like a current.
"Eat," she breathed.
I answered with the only toolbox I had left: wrong breath, wrong pulse, aura-grit into the seam.
The bell squealed without sound under my palm.
You have resonated with [Nestbreaker]
[Comprehension: 33% → 41%]
The basin tilted like it wanted to dump me. I slid my heel onto the cross I scratched earlier. The mark held. The ground stopped being her friend.
"You aren't real," I told the voice. "You're leverage."
The child-shapes slid down the slope, wrists twitching with silent bells. One brushed my sleeve. My aura film wrinkled and pushed back. The shape dimmed where it touched, like someone rinsed ink once and gave up.
"Sorry," I said, lying, and pressed harder into the bell.
Something inside it crackled. Not quite a snap—more like a grind that decided to become one.
Her kitchen graft tried one last time to drop over the basin. It landed crooked. The spoon kept refusing my reflection like a pro. The clock reached for sixty and just… didn't. The prayer flag hung in a breath that wouldn't finish.
The bell's circles stumbled.
You have resonated with [Nestbreaker]
[Comprehension: 41% → 50%]
[Partial Hunt unlocked]
White crowded my sight. Cold rushed out of the mud like the ground finally exhaled. The children's laughter broke into flute sounds and then cut off.
The world didn't fold.
It peeled.
Tiles lifted like stickers. The window frame slid off. The stove sank into a chalk outline and dust. The air forgot the tea. The bell jerked once under my palm and went slack, like a muscle after cramp.
Real sounds came back. Wind in trees. Water far away. A forest doing forest things and not caring about me at all. Rude, but fair.
I was on my knees in black mud, my hand still on bone and hair. The basin was only a hollow. The fog was only fog.
I took my hand away.
A faint imprint of the bell's pattern lingered in my palm like the memory of a heavy ring. It faded while I watched. Not gone forever. Not permanent. Just a reminder that I poked something I shouldn't.
I stood too fast and grabbed a tree. The bill came due properly this time. Breath rough. Head buzzing. Hands shaking like I'd been holding a dumbbell made of anxiety.
"Okay," I said. My voice sounded like I'd failed sleep as a concept. "Rules."
I ticked them off on muddy fingers.
"Anchor, not room. Break the beat with breathing. My aura 'defiles' on contact—scrambles other patterns where I touch. It costs energy. Do not get cocky, future me."
Leaves whispered above. Just wind. No kitchen. No prayer flag. Only a torn scrap on a branch pretending to be important.
A small bell lay half-buried in the center. Bone and hair. Cracked down the middle. Silent. My fingers still twitched like the idea of its ring was stuck in my head.
I did not pick it up. I am dumb, but not "grab the cursed relic" dumb. Yet.
Something moved at the edge of the hollow.
A child-shape stood there. No face. No shadow. No bell. It tilted its head like it was listening to the trees complain.
Then it stepped aside.
Someone taller walked out of the fog. Layers of cloth moving wrong. A blurred face. Bells where a mouth should be. No kitchen to back her up now. No flag to tuck me in.
"Mother is hungry," she said. This time I heard it with my ears, not my nerves.
My hands still shook. Knees hollow. Aura film clinging to me like a cheap raincoat.
I smiled anyway. Small. A little mean. Very tired.
"Good," I said. "So am I."