Silence did not follow the Rite.
Silence fled.
The storm did not settle—it ruptured. The sky cracked like ancient glass under divine weight, and through the fracture poured a sound that had no beginning and no source. It was not thunder. Not wind. It was the roar of existence unraveling, a sound older than language, as if the world itself screamed from the depths of its own memory. The Oath Circle, once sacred in purpose, forged to preserve ancient truths and bind them in ritual flame, had now become something else entirely. It was no longer merely a container of oaths. It was a crucible of consequence. It bore witness not just to power—but to the unbearable price of remembering.
From the apex of fire, Selena fell.
