The bell's second toll did not merely echo.
It carved the sky.
A line of white split the clouds above the sandstorm city, bleeding down into the world like a wound. The walls trembled. Obsidian towers cracked at their tips. Even the sandstorm outside froze in mid-air, each grain suspended like an insect caught in amber.
Shen Yue clutched my arm.
"An," she whispered, "that sound—"
"I know."
It wasn't a bell.
It wasn't metal.
It was the tower itself screaming.
The guide appeared in the doorway, robes fluttering in the impossible stillness.
"There is no more time," he said. "The third cut must begin now."
I exhaled slowly. "Fine."
He shook his head.
"Not here. Not in safety. The bell has changed the conditions."
"Then where?" Shen Yue snapped.
The guide lifted a hand toward the storm wall outside.
"The cut must be made in the open. Under the sky. Where the presence can see."
Shen Yue's hand went straight to her sword.
"Absolutely not."
The guide did not flinch.
"If the presence is denied, it will take him by force."
My pulse hammered.
The bridge inside me writhed like something awakening from a long sleep.
Shen Yue's gaze flicked to my chest. "An—are you sure—"
"No," I said.
"But we're going."
The guide bowed once.
"Follow me."
We stepped into the dust-lit courtyard as the sky twisted above us.
The third cut would begin.
And the presence would come.
Ling An's outer gates groaned as thousands of armored boots pressed closer. Zhou's forces had doubled overnight. Their formation was perfect—an iron wall stretching across the central ward.
At the top of the palace steps, Wu Jin breathed out slowly.
Tonight, he would strike.
He turned to his captain. "Signal the west gate."
The captain nodded and sprinted.
Moments later, fires rose along the outer ramparts. Zhou soldiers turned sharply—
Just as the west gate slammed shut behind them.
A trap.
The Zhou commander shouted an order.
Spears lowered.
Swords drew.
Wu Jin stood above them, robes snapping in the wind of the bell's second toll.
"You came to replace me," he called down. "Let us see who kneels first."
Zhou surged toward the palace steps.
Wu Jin raised his hand.
Archers on the roof aimed.
"Loose."
Arrows rained like black water.
The first clash of the northern siege began.
But Wu Jin was not watching the arrows.
He was looking toward the tower.
Its light pulsed like a heartbeat.
"Father," he whispered, "how much of this did you plan?"
Wu Shuang drifted through the palace like smoke.
The shadows followed her.
She heard the screams from the outer wards.
She heard the gates slamming.
She heard the thunder of Zhou's assault.
None of it concerned her.
Not yet.
She slipped into the lower sanctum where only the Lord Protector should be. The iron doors were unguarded—because no one alive would dare enter.
She dared.
Inside, the sanctum shimmered with a faint silver glow. The bell chamber above trembled with each pulse.
The Lord Protector stood alone, one hand on the rope, head tilted toward the sound from afar.
Shuang stepped forward.
"You accelerated the ringing."
He didn't look back. "Of course."
"The tower isn't ready."
He smiled at the stone wall.
"It will become ready."
"It might break."
"It must break," he said. "Only broken things let light through."
She inhaled, heart pounding. "Do you even care if Jin survives? If An survives?"
He turned finally.
And she met the eyes of a man who had long since abandoned the word care.
"Survival," he said, "belongs to the one who understands necessity."
His gaze sharpened.
"The rest do not matter."
Shuang looked into the face of her father.
And realized she had been wrong for years.
He wasn't insane.
He was clear.
Too clear.
And clarity had carved him hollow.
For the first time in her life, Wu Shuang took a step away from him.
He saw it.
And smiled.
"Choose carefully, daughter."
She fled.
Far south, the Emperor of Liang's army marched through the marsh. The ground darkened beneath their boots. Frogs leapt into still water that no longer rippled.
The Emperor rode in silence.
The Southern King approached, bowing in the saddle.
"Your Majesty. The bells…"
"I heard."
"They shake the mountains."
"Yes."
The King swallowed. "Should… should we fear this?"
The Emperor turned slowly toward him.
And the King realized, finally, the truth:
This was not a ruler.
This was a force wearing a man's shape.
"Fear?" the Emperor asked. "No. Fear is for those who misunderstand what approaches."
He smiled softly.
"We are approaching home."
The Southern King forced a bow, face pale.
On paper, he served this man.
But deep inside, something slipped.
Some fragile thread of obedience snapped.
The sandstorm city had gone silent.
The guide led us to a stone platform exposed to the sky. Lightning-like cracks ran across the clouds, each flash echoing the bell's second toll.
I stood in the center.
Shen Yue stayed one step behind, hand on my back.
The guide raised his hands.
"The third cut requires no blade," he said. "The blade is already inside you."
The bridge coiled. Tight. Hungry.
"What do I do?" I asked.
"You must invite it," the guide said. "Open the wound. And do not fight what comes."
Shen Yue grabbed my wrist, voice raw.
"An. If the presence comes—run."
"I can't."
"Then I run for both of us," she said.
The guide stepped back.
"Begin."
I closed my eyes.
Opened the first cut.
Opened the second.
The bridge rose inside me like a serpent uncurling, stretching toward the sky. My breath hitched. My spine arched.
Then—
The sky split.
Something stepped through.
Not a shape.
Not a god.
A pressure, a direction, a will.
The presence with no name.
The storm howled backward.
The city groaned.
Every stone bent toward the thing descending into the valley.
The presence whispered into my mind:
Doorway.
I staggered.
Shen Yue shouted my name.
The presence whispered again:
Open.
My knees buckled.
The guide shouted something I couldn't hear.
The world narrowed.
The bridge screamed in triumph.
The presence reached for me.
And the third cut—
began.