The path beneath their feet shifted like liquid stone, folding and curling as though the Grave itself was alive. Each step Amaya took echoed with millions of possibilities, each one whispering fragments of lives that might have been—or could still be.
Calix stayed at her side, hand tightly gripping hers. His presence anchored her, a tether to what was real, what was theirs, and what they would fight to preserve. Even so, she could feel the pressure rising—the Grave recognized her, knew her intent, and responded with the weight of every potential undoing she had ever caused.
The fox king trailed behind, his nine tails flicking through the air, brushing against unseen forces. "You're stirring the old currents," he said softly. "Be careful. The Unwritten Kings will not hesitate. They are the failures, the lost, the erased. They will attack your soul before your body."
