The bells did not make sound.
They made meaning.
Across the lowlands, every oathbound soul felt the pull—a tightening behind the eyes, a pressure in the chest that translated into certainty.
Target confirmed.
Anomaly classified.
Correction authorized.
Erynd felt it too.
Not as compulsion.
As data.
At least twelve responders within a fifty-mile radius, he estimated, moving at a steady pace along the old stone road. Two divine proxies. One bound executioner. No full god—yet.
They were testing response saturation.
Good. That meant fear.
He didn't sprint. Speed implied urgency, and urgency narrowed options. Instead, he altered his path at irregular intervals, breaking linear prediction while maintaining forward momentum. Every third deviation was false—an intentional inefficiency to mask the real ones.
By nightfall, the air thickened.
Oaths layered over the land like invisible nets.
Erynd stopped at the edge of a ruined waystation, its roof collapsed and walls chewed through by time. Symbols from half a dozen faiths scarred the stone—this place had been reused, repurposed, and abandoned.
Perfect.
He stepped inside.
The first hunter arrived less than a minute later.
A woman in ash-grey armor, her face hidden behind a mask carved with lines of obedience. Twin seals glowed at her wrists.
A Bound Executioner.
"Erynd Vale," she said. His name tasted forced in her mouth. "By combined authority, you are—"
"—outnumbered," Erynd interrupted, glancing behind her. "And late."
The second hunter emerged from the trees. Then a third.
Erynd smiled faintly.
Right on schedule.
He lifted a hand—not in threat, but in demonstration—and dragged his fingers across the air.
Nothing happened.
The executioner frowned.
Too late.
The waystation's old symbols flared—not with divine light, but with residue. Dead oaths. Forgotten promises. The kind gods no longer tracked because they assumed nothing remained.
Assumptions were fragile things.
The hunters staggered as their seals resonated with incompatible logic.
[Environmental Oath Interference Detected]
Erynd spoke calmly.
"This place has been sworn to six times," he said. "Each oath contradicted the last. You walk inside carrying absolute statements."
He tilted his head.
"Reality hates that."
The executioner snarled and lunged.
Erynd moved—not faster, but earlier.
He'd already chosen where her blade would be. His body followed a decision made half a second before she committed to hers.
Her strike passed through empty air.
Erynd touched her wrist.
[Authority — Fear: Passive Effect]
Her breath hitched.
For an instant, she experienced every failed oath she'd ever witnessed—every promise broken in the name of order.
Her knees buckled.
Erynd stepped past her and faced the others.
"Leave," he said. "Or adapt."
They didn't.
The fight lasted twelve seconds.
Not because Erynd was stronger.
Because they fought according to their oaths, and he fought according to outcomes.
When it ended, three hunters lay unconscious. One fled, seals flickering erratically.
Erynd sat against the wall, pulse racing.
That was too close.
The penalty gnawed at him now, a creeping fog where certainty should be. He couldn't see beyond the next few hours clearly—every projection blurred at the edges.
He hated it.
[Scar Stability Warning]
"Noted," Erynd muttered.
A sound reached him then—soft, deliberate clapping.
He stiffened.
A figure stepped from the shadows near the collapsed hearth. Erynd was certain the space had been empty.
Which meant—
"Relax," the stranger said. "If I wanted you dead, you'd already be correcting yourself into a hole."
Not a god.
Not oathbound.
That narrowed it dangerously.
The stranger removed their hood. Pale eyes. Too calm. No visible seal.
"Name?" Erynd asked.
"Lyra," she said. "I study things gods pretend don't exist."
She looked at the fallen hunters, then at Erynd.
"You're the first successful Null Anchor in recorded reality," she continued. "Which means you won't survive alone."
Erynd stood slowly.
"I don't need allies."
Lyra smiled.
"No," she said. "You need context."
She stepped closer, lowering her voice.
"They erased your god because it proved something."
Erynd felt the scar in his chest throb.
"What?" he asked.
Lyra met his gaze.
"That gods are not inevitable."
Far above, the Radiant Conclave received a report.
Test Outcome: Inconclusive.
Anomaly Adaptation Rate: Accelerating.
War laughed.
Fate recalculated.
And the hunt escalated.