Chapter 12 - The Pale Bell
The morning after the dream felt different.
The city was quieter. Not in the way a battlefield quiets after the last shot is fired. This was expectant. Like a breath held, just before the plunge. Kieran could feel it humming behind his ribs, that strange second pulse ticking like a countdown.
He didn't mention the blood.
Not to Mira. Not yet.
She already looked at him like he knew more than he was saying—and the truth was, he did. He just didn't know why.
Instead, he told her they were heading north.
She didn't argue.
The university loomed at the edge of the city like a carcass of stone and glass, gutted by time and whatever had crawled through the Gate seven days ago. It had once been a proud thing—gothic spires and a library that had survived two fires and a war. Now, it was just another ruin.
But it still stood.
That mattered.
There were stories that places like that could anchor things. Memory. Power. Maybe something worse.
They reached the outer campus by noon. The streets here were cracked, overgrown with vines that hadn't existed a week ago. Red-veined, pulsing with a subtle light. Cards had changed more than people.
They crept between skeletal buildings, listening.
Nothing.
No crows.
No monsters.
Just wind.
And the bell.
It rang once.
Far off.
No tower in sight.
Just sound—low and hollow, like a throat choked with ash. It sent a tremor down Kieran's spine, and Mira stiffened beside him.
"You hear that?"
He nodded once.
And then they saw the child.
She was sitting alone on the steps of the library—barefoot, hair matted with dried blood, a stuffed rabbit clutched in one hand. Her eyes were wide. Too wide.
Not crying.
Just watching.
Kieran didn't move.
Neither did she.
Then she raised her hand.
Not to wave.
But to point.
Directly at him.
The bell rang again.
And the world went sideways.
Not literally. But the air shifted. Colors twisted. The sky darkened without clouds. The pulse in his palm flared, and suddenly the circle cut into his flesh the night before burned like ice.
He took a step back.
But it wasn't him moving.
It was everything else.
The girl stood.
And smiled.
Not a child's smile. Not even a cruel one.
It was… ancient.
Like something had worn her skin like a glove.
"Hello, Kieran," she said, and her voice didn't match her body. It echoed, layered. One child, one woman, one something else.
"I've been waiting."
Mira reached for a blade.
The girl tilted her head.
And Mira froze mid-motion, hand trembling, eyes wide with terror.
Not fear.
Terror.
As if something was pressing its fingers into her skull and showing her things that didn't belong in a sane mind.
Kieran stepped forward.
The circle in his hand flared again, brighter this time.
The girl blinked.
And frowned.
Something hissed in the air between them. Static. Like a bad signal trying to get through. Then the girl jerked back like a puppet on strings, and her voice cracked—not layered now, just raw and scared.
"Help me. Please."
She collapsed.
The sky lightened.
The pressure lifted.
Mira gasped and stumbled back into his side, panting. Her face was pale, drenched in sweat.
"What the fuck was that?" she whispered.
Kieran didn't answer.
He was staring at the girl.
Not a scratch on her.
No blood now.
No rabbit.
Just a single feather lying beside her.
Jet-black.
Twisted.
And on it, carved in bone-white ink:
"Six days remain."