Not people.
Not forests.
A stain.
A thing to erase.
Rhaen's hands shook.
She looked at her own blood words on the floor.
DON'T BURY.
WE SEE.
Her throat tightened.
"Fine," she thought. "Then everyone will see."
She lifted her sword.
And she made a cut.
Not in flesh.
In the floor.
She scraped the blade across the broken circle line—hard enough to disturb the groove.
The chamber screamed.
Not sound.
Pressure.
The dungeon didn't like its route scar being rewritten.
The Walkers froze.
For the first time, they looked almost… annoyed.
The bone charm flared.
Second spark tried to ignite.
The dungeon answered.
Gravity twisted.
Not random.
Focused.
It pulled sideways like a hook.
The Walkers stumbled.
One dropped a slate.
The slate clacked and spun.
Rhaen's mark pulsed.
Three short.
One long.
The long pull screamed.
MOVE.
Rhaen grabbed the Sea‑Glass operative's sleeve.
They ran.
Not away from the Walkers.
Past them.
