The silence that followed the Dread-Crawler's consumption was heavy, a physical weight that pressed against the amber bones of the Bastion. The sky, once a bruised purple, had settled into a flat, unnerving charcoal.
Eren stood at the edge of the descent, his hand still stained with the grey soot of the iron sphere he had crushed. The static dancing across his skin wasn't fading; it was integrating, sinking beneath the surface until his very pores seemed to breathe a faint, obsidian mist.
"The vacuum," Aden said, walking to the edge of the ribcage. He looked out at the jagged scar in the stone where the fortress had been. "It's not just a lack of sound anymore, Eren. It's a pull. You've changed the gravity of the Wastes."
