The void felt eternal—a space where time itself seemed to stop ticking. But slowly, the frequencies of the world began to return. The first sound heard was not an explosion, but the groan of cooling metal and the rattle of pebbles falling onto the stone floor.
Harold slowly released his embrace. He was panting, his breath thick in the air, which had grown unnaturally cold—a lingering effect of the Zero-Point energy. Before him, Anne still had her eyes closed, her face as pale as if her soul had almost been sucked into the machine along with the void.
"Anne," Harold's voice was hoarse, barely audible.
Anne opened her eyes. Her amber spectacles were now shattered, falling from her face to reveal her natural yellow eyes—exhausted, yet still radiating sharpness. She looked toward the spot where William had stood moments before.
Empty.
There was no molten metal. No black webbing. All that remained was a fine grey dust covering the floor—the residue of a frequency manifestation that had been forcibly severed.
"Don't celebrate just yet," Caine's voice drifted from behind a pile of rubble. He crawled out while clutching his ribs. His face was covered in soot, but he still took a moment to adjust his cracked monocle. "The machine is destroyed. And Isfellan... well, this place is now nothing more than a dead heap of stones."
Anne walked toward the charred remains of the Zero-Point Generator, which was now nothing but a scorched iron slab. "That was the goal, Caine. We killed the 'resonance' here. Permanently."
"But is William truly gone?" Harold picked up his sword. The iron felt cold and dead; there were no more whispers or disturbing vibrations.
"His form here is destroyed," Anne replied, staring at the dust on the floor. "But Bael is an entity older than this iron. He lost his physical anchor in Isfellan, but he will surely seek another place to hide."
The three of them walked out through corridors that had finally stopped pulsing. Fortress Isfellan had returned to being an inanimate object. In the courtyard, snow began to cover the massive cracks left by the explosion.
Rainnes ran toward them as she saw them emerge from the smoking ventilation hatch. She stopped right in front of Harold and Anne, her sensitive eyes scanning the air around them.
"He's gone," Rainnes whispered, her voice filled with immense relief. "That golden frequency... it's no longer within the walls."
However, Rainnes' gaze shifted toward the mountains in the East—far beyond the borders of Isfellan. "But he hasn't vanished. I can feel him far away. Like a fading echo, but not yet truly gone."
Caine stood beside his ship, gazing at the destruction of his fortress with an unreadable expression. "Well, Anne. Your investment is in ruins. This fortress took a decade to build, and the mines now have no power source."
Anne stood beside Harold, looking out at Isfellan, which now sat in total silence beneath the pale moonlight.
"Isfellan does not need demon magic to rise, Caine," Anne said, her voice regaining its calm tone of authority. "We have steel, we have grain, and now... we have true peace. We will build an industry born purely from human hands, not from cursed voices."
Harold turned toward his wife. Amidst the destruction and the Northern cold, he realized the contract between them had changed. This was no longer just about grain or military protection.
"So, what is the next move, Madam?" Harold asked, this time without a hint of sarcasm.
Anne Marie Vain pulled the fur cloak her brother had given her tighter around her body. "We gather the remaining Lords. We feed them. And we show the world that Isfellan no longer whispers... but it will begin to roar."
Beneath their feet, the frozen earth of Isfellan remained still. But in the distance, behind the shadows of the mountains, a single yellow eye opened within the darkness of an ancient cave, waiting for the right moment to sing once again.