The bells rang after the screaming stopped.
Kael had always believed bells were meant to warn the living. In Brinefall, they rang when the tide came in too fast, when raiders breached the salt walls, when fire leapt from roof to roof. Today, they rang because there was no one left to warn.
He stood on the broken watchtower, salt wind burning his eyes, and watched the dead walk through the western gate.
They did not rush.
That was the lie everyone had believed that the dead were mindless, hungry things. These moved with patience, with purpose. Armor clattered against bone. Rotten banners dragged through the dust. Somewhere among them, something rang the bells.
Below him, Brinefall burned.
Kael's hands shook around the spear he'd scavenged from a corpse that was still warm when he took it. He was no soldier. He had never prayed to be one. The gods had never answered anyway.
A scream cut short beneath him. Another. Then silence.
When the first corpse looked up at him, its eyes were wrong, not empty, but full. Full of a pale, flickering light that made Kael's skull ache.
And then, without warning, he saw it.
Not flesh. Not bone.
A soul, burning like a candle inside the dead man's chest.
Hunger tore through Kael so violently he nearly fell from the tower.
The world tilted. The bells rang once more.
And somewhere deep inside him, something ancient and unforgivable awakened.