The Bellwarden waits at the corridor’s edge, its small bell poised at the front of the chain. Light falls across the metal, tracing the quiet loops and twists that hold it fast. It does not move, does not call, but listens—every shadow, every draft, every distant footstep counted and remembered.A signal comes, faint at first, carried on the shift of air. The Bellwarden trembles, then swings, and the bell sounds. Its note is delicate but insistent, threading through the hallways, through open doors and along the stairs. It does not shout; it does not demand. It summons.The sound spreads like ripples over still water. Walls lean in to catch it, ceilings shiver with it, and those who hear it know something is beginning. The Bellwarden continues its vigil, ready for the next call, its presence small but indispensable, the keeper of moments that must not be missed.
