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... led with him, their jagged interiors echoing the motion like ribs shifting around a buried lung. The veins of dark red pulsed faintly again, slow and deliberate—spirit-fed hunger stirring beneath the surface.

The whispers returned.

Not louder—but closer.

They pressed in from behind the stone, from under the floor, from somewhere inside the black screen that no longer glowed. The chorus of trapped souls gave no names—only presence. A rising sound, full of weight and unfini ...

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Sitting under the ginkgo tree in leisure time, looking at the dust and clouds in the distance,

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—————

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