The shard's hum vibrated the frost under Qin Mo's boots, a pulse that matched the seamless bell before him, its surface smooth as glass, etched with runes that seemed to breathe. The cloaked figure stood by the bell, its voice a wordless weight in his bones, like a command carved in stone. The courtyard was silent, frost curling from the ground, the air heavy with the scent of iron and cold.
"You brought its piece," the figure said, its voice low, resonant, as if speaking from the mountain's heart. "Now you belong to it."
Yi's frost threads spiraled, binding the courtyard's edges, sealing hidden wards. "It's bound," she whispered, her fingers trembling with cold.
Ren flanked the figure, his daggers drawn. "Unbind it, now."
"No," Qin Mo said, his voice steady, the shard burning in his chest. "Break it wrong, and we wake worse."
[System prompt: Integrate fragment into construct? Y/N]
"Yes."
The shard met the bell silently, a pulse of heat and cold merging in a flash of light. The world folded—colors leached, edges blurred into frost and shadow, the courtyard vanishing into a vast frost-lit void. Towers rose, crowned with silent bells, their shadows stirring with shapes that weren't human.
The figure was closer, unstepping, its cloak rippling like liquid frost. "You've done it," it said, its voice soft but heavy. "The bell claims its own."
Frost chains rose, reaching for Qin Mo, their links glinting like frozen tears. Yi snapped one with her threads, the ice shattering. Ren's dagger broke another, sparks flying. The last coiled his wrist, cold sinking into bone, locking his meridians.
[First claim: Bell's. Binding threshold: 90%. Meridian lock: 30%.]
The figure's voice softened, almost pitying. "Now we talk."
The chain pulled, and the courtyard vanished into black. The void opened fully—towers of frost and stone, their bells silent but alive, whispering an ancient covenant. A crack of light split the dark, faint but sharp, like a blade's edge.
The hum in his bones became a word—not his name, but an order: Serve.
Qin Mo's heart roared defiance, the shard blazing, heat and cold warring within. He would not bow—not to the bell, not to the Tax. His vision steadied, the crack of light growing, a promise of return.
Yi's voice echoed faintly, "Qin Mo!" Her frost threads pierced the void, seeking him. Ren's knife slashed, tearing at the dark. Lian's arrow flew, striking the crack, widening it.
[Binding threshold: 85%. Resistance detected: Shard alignment.]
He gripped the shard, its heat grounding him. "I'm not yours," he whispered, the void trembling as he stepped toward the light.
—End of Volume I—