The sound of the third toll had not yet finished fading when Aether felt the shockwave pass through him — not a physical force, but something deeper, something that seemed to ripple through every memory-linked artifact he carried and every one he had ever touched. He felt it in the silver flame beneath his skin, in the faint resonance of the Ninth Reader's book still open on its stand nearby, in the very air of the Hall of Unfinished Stories, which seemed, for just a moment, to hold its breath.
Around him, the Traveler, the Architect, the Forgotten Reader, and the Keeper had all gone equally still, their expressions carrying a weight Aether had rarely seen shared so completely among them.
"Three rings," the Traveler said quietly, almost to himself. "Not one. Not two. Three."
"What does it mean?" Aether asked.
