"Reset."
Then he hurled the vial. It arced—a tiny star past columns of flame—and smashed dead center into the core. For the briefest instant silence punched out everything: no roar, no chanting, no heartbeat, just a suspension of all sound as the failsafe threaded itself through every live rune.
Amber turned white. Glyphs spun backward, characters reordering like frantic birds reversing migration mid-flight. The booming cadence collapsed into a single, resonant thud—then steadied into a slow pulse, calmer than it had been all night. Sap jets smoothed, vents sealed. The furnace inhaled, exhaled, content.
And above, within the vaulted ceiling, an entirely different fracture gave way. Granite plates split with a roar deeper than thunder. Moonlight—cold, silver, almost gentle—poured in through a widening seam, painting the hell-lit chamber with a saintly corona. Dust swirled upward, caught in the beam like spirits fleeing.
