The hollow screamed.
It wasn't sound—it was marrow. Every bone in Lin's body vibrated with it, marrow shattering and knitting, marrow trying to remember what it had always been. The silhouette on the throne convulsed, its vast form unraveling and reforming in the same breath. Chains thrashed like serpents, striking at Lin's defiance.
But the skipped heartbeat remained.
BOOM. ... BOOM. BOOM.
The rhythm wasn't flawless anymore. The marrow, perfect and eternal, had faltered.
Lin felt it in his blood, in the trembling marrow of his own bones. That slip wasn't just weakness—it was proof. Proof that the hollow was not absolute, proof that it could bleed.
Chains crashed against him, trying to drive him to his knees. His arms split open under the pressure, gold and black marrow-light bursting from his veins. Every nerve was on fire. But his voice didn't break.
"You're afraid," Lin spat, blood on his teeth. "You've never been challenged. Never been told no. And now you're trembling."
