The wind around the Codex Tree was silent.
Not because it had stopped—but because something older than sound had settled into the Spiral's skin. Something that pulsed with the rhythm of creation, not life. Of intent, not breath.
Kaela stood at its base, barefoot on a bed of myth-ash, her hair tangled with strands of silver and crimson that hadn't been there the night before. Her belly was bare, and although she wasn't visibly swollen, every part of her shimmered as if a secret within her threatened to leak through her pores.
The bark of the Codex Tree peeled slowly, without pain. Not rot. Not decay.
Preparation.
She didn't call out. She didn't pray. She only whispered:
"He's coming."
Far across the temple complex, Darius halted mid-step. His body snapped into alignment like a compass obeying a new magnetic field. His breath hitched—not in fear or surprise, but recognition. As if something written in his blood had just been spoken aloud.
