The bells did not stop.
They rang across mountains, across borders, across realms that were never meant to hear one another. Each toll carried weight—authority layered over fear, judgment braided with urgency. The sound pressed against Amaya's skull until she thought it might split her open.
She clutched Calix's tunic, fingers digging in as if he were the only solid thing left in the world.
"Don't let them take me," she whispered.
Calix's jaw tightened. "They'll have to kill me first."
The fox king approached, steps unhurried, eyes sharp. "That may not be as comforting as you think."
Amaya forced herself upright. Her legs trembled, but she stood. The valley behind them was alive again—people murmuring, crying, holding one another—but none dared approach her. They looked at her like one looks at fire after it has burned too close.
With awe.
With fear.
With the terrible understanding that something had changed.
"They're coming," Calix said quietly. "How long?"
