The world reeled.
Arden Gate flickered like a candle nearly blown out. The wall crumbled and reappeared. The baker's song froze mid-note, then resumed three words earlier. The shrine ribbon tied itself, untied itself, tied again. The fissure above the square burned wider, the three shadows leaning closer without moving at all.
And in the square, Lio crouched in the ruin of himself. Ink ran from his arms in streams. The door he had swallowed lay shattered inside his chest. He was still breathing, but every exhale dripped pieces of the person he had been. His eyes were red, his veins black, his teeth sharper than they should be. He fought to stay standing, fought to stay someone.
The second pulse inside him purred. It wanted to eat.
He wanted to let it.
But a thread of silence still held. Not his name—he had lost that. Something smaller, meaner, sharper. Refusal. That was all that kept him human.
Above him, the three shadows exhaled a new state: welcome.
