The words drifted through the darkness like perfume over a corpse.
Anahita did not breathe.
Every ward in the cave should have screamed.
Every chain should have tightened.
Every seal should have ignited.
There were alarms here that could detect a soul-thread slipping through the stone, formations meant to flay shadows, time-nets meant to trap teleportation, divine sensors meant to recognize intruders down to the shape of their intent.
Even thought-projections should have been shredded at the boundary.
Yet someone was inside.
Not breaking in but already in.
The silhouette stepped out at last.
It had apparently been there the entire time—watching, waiting, saying nothing while Anahita suffered beneath chains that could restrain even a True Fallen God.
The woman moved in dark heels, each click on the stone soft enough to preserve the cave's stillness and yet somehow impossible to ignore. She came forward without hurry, the calm of her movement itself becoming sinister.
