So they were the "WE WALK."
Not a monster.
Not a rumor.
A method.
They wanted her alive.
Not because she mattered.
Because she was useful.
Rhaen raised her own hand slowly.
No sudden motion.
She pointed at the slate.
Then at the corridor behind them.
Then made a slicing gesture in the air.
Stop.
The nearest robed figure tilted their head.
They wrote:
REGION.
Then a line underneath.
CLEAN.
Rhaen almost laughed.
It stayed stuck in her throat.
Region. They use the word like it's a prayer. Like it excuses burning children.
Her anger rose.
The corridor behind rang.
A thin warning note.
Rhaen froze.
She forced the anger down again.
Expose.
Not break.
The note faded.
The robed figure watched her face like they were disappointed she didn't snap.
They wrote:
GOOD.
Then:
COME.
They stepped aside, slowly, leaving a narrow path between them.
Not an invitation.
A funnel.
Rhaen's mind moved fast.
If she walked through, they could guide her deeper.
