The illusion held. To any watcher, this fit. Darkened eyes meant a bond. A known frame. An explanation that closed questions instead of opening worse ones.
Whatever came next would be filed under familiar rules, not anomalies whispered about later.
The drain spiked again as the One-Armed Man tested him, heat flaring and thinning under the water's bite.
Vencian did not resist it this time. He let it pull, let the ache deepen and the cold bite harder, right up to the edge where his knees threatened to fold.
Then he triggered the pact.
The pull changed shape. The bleed did not stop, but it shifted, sliding away from collapse and into something narrower and controlled. Color leeched from the world in a thin wash, the river dulling, the stone flattening, depth losing its edge.
He stayed upright.
The river still shoved. The Arche still fed. The ground still betrayed him by inches.
But the choice had been made, and the cover was set.
The manifestation hit like a rupture.
