The deep, resonant chime of the iron bell did not fade quickly into the howling wind.
Instead, the sound seemed to sink directly into the volcanic stone beneath their boots, traveling in rhythmic, shivering pulses through the dark basalt floor. The pale-grey ash covering the plateau danced in intricate, vibrating geometric patterns, while high above, the thick blanket of fog began to churn into a dark, rotating vortex centered right over the ruined fortress.
Kyle stood fifty paces from the broken archway, his dark coat sweeping backward against the rising gale. His pitch-black demon gauntlet rested loosely near his waist, his fingers relaxed, though his slitted dark eyes never left the shadows beneath the bell.
Behind him, Falcon, Seraphina, and Yua automatically shifted into a wide, triangular vanguard.
