Before Vaeronyx could reach him, Leroy's hand jerked violently, the dagger veering at the last possible instant so that instead of opening the child's throat, it only skimmed the tender tip of the infant's smallest finger, drawing a bead of blood so tiny and fragile that it seemed almost ashamed to exist. The drop fell in a slow, trembling arc, bright as a newborn star, landing upon the carved sigils that had waited centuries for this moment.
Silence fell like a great, suffocating breath caught in the chest of the world.
The sigils remained still.
The tomb did not stir.
The air did not tremble.
Nothing happened.
