Chapter 772 - Half a Face, Half a History (4)

A low, sub-ocean gong rolled beneath the morning surf, so deep it seemed to shudder inside bone rather than air. The sound slithered up the salt-stone cliffs in tremors, rattling gull nests and sending old birds shrieking into a pewter sky. Their wings carved frantic crescents over the foam, scattering like pages torn from a sailor's log. Where the cliffs split in jagged seams, a ribbon of azure vapor exhaled. It hissed inland across lichen and boneweed, staining every frost-rimmed leaf in its path the color of cold lightning. The vapor smelled of brine laced with sap—sharp enough to sting eyes, sweet enough to beckon deeper. It was the first breath of something ancient, a sleeper tasting daylight for the first time in epochs, and the stones themselves seemed to pause to listen.