Mira struck the match. It flared—a tiny, furious sun. The creature recoiled, hissing without sound. But the match was already burning down, curling toward her fingers.
“You brought the wrong light,” it said. Not with a mouth. The words simply appeared inside Leo’s skull, cold and precise. Into pitch black
“Mira?” His voice came out flat, absorbed instantly by the void. No echo. As if the darkness was a sponge. Mira struck the match
He understood. Not everything, but enough. The dark wasn't empty. It was hungry . And it could only digest one light at a time. furious sun. The creature recoiled