The bell's note had not finished dying before the marks along Ash's chest began to move. Gold rewrote itself into shapes no living citizen of the Last City could read.
The tower above the market held its rope still, yet the sound kept traveling down through the stone, finding the boy beside Hajin's leg.
It was answering something the engine had waited centuries to ask.
The Last City climbed the slopes in tiers of pale stone, every roof tracing the blue civic line upward. The vertical engine split the clouds high above it all.
It was a pillar of old light that had held the sky back since before any kingdom remembered why.
Ash looked down at his own chest with a child's calm curiosity, as unbothered as a boy watching rain trace a window. His rose-gold eyes reflected the living gold beneath his skin.
Hajin set a hand on the boy's shoulder, feeling the geometry pulse against his palm in a rhythm older than any Ring he carried.
