The golden whistle emitted a high, piercing note—a sound that didn't just travel through the air, but seemed to snap a psychic leash. For a heartbeat, there was a vacuum of silence, a hollow gap in reality. Then, the birds erupted.
They burst from the cage in a violent, black tide, a whirlwind of shrieks and beating wings that turned the midday sun into a fractured eclipse. But they did not head for the scaffold. Instead, they swirled upward in a chaotic vortex before diving with predatory instinct toward the crowd.
The square transformed into a slaughterhouse of panic. The Umbra-Ravens descended without direction, a storm of obsidian talons tearing into silk and skin alike. The frantic murmurs of the people turned into guttural screams as the birds began their unguided hunt, turning "loyal subjects" into panicked prey.
