Chapter 9 · free to read
It reached me two hundred li from the vault. The coffin was open now — and open doors carry voices.
It did not speak in words. It spoke in the shape my hunger already had.
Nine marks. Nine Grave-Wells — every place the world had ever buried its broken swords. The founder was offering me a map to my own feeding grounds.
The smith knew the second mark. Every exiled forge-child did.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.