Silence fell across the cavern, but it was not the silence of peace.
It was the silence that was left when something enormous had just spoken, when echoes still twisted along the bones of the world.
The Root's shape no longer convulsed. The arms that had clawed at the walls hung dead, dissolving into vapor that curled like smoke around the shattered stone.
The many faces that had screamed and wailed—faces that were not faces, but rather impressions of something too old to have a name—were now mere shattered husks, flaking off like rotten bark from a dying tree.
But even as its mass dissolved, its presence did not.
The resonance remained. It hummed in Kaito's chest, gentle but insistent, like a second heartbeat that would not die.
Kaito leaned on his scythe, the haft biting into his palms. His breath came in rough, ragged gasps, sweat mixing with blood that streamed down his face.
