{"ops":[{"insert":"Bola’s Slivers"},{"attributes":{"header":3},"insert":"\n"},{"insert":"\nGrixis is quiet.\n\nAcross a landscape of toppled mausoleums and broken citadels, the wind drifts through hollow corridors of bone and basalt. The ground is dry, fissured, and strangely warm—as though something beneath it has begun to breathe. Ancient tunnels, long collapsed and forgotten, beneath the surface where no living creature has walked in ages, though something deep within them has begun to wake.\n\nBy dusk, the sky sinks into a bruised violet haze. Thin strands of energy leak from distant rifts, sinking into the earth like rain. The burial grounds answer. \nThe ruins echo with a soft, layered chittering that grows into a resonant hum. The air thickens with instinct and hunger. The necropolis becomes a living engine again, rebuilt from the bones of its own dead.\n\nFor a moment, the stirring brood stands still—listening.\nAnd then a shadow moves along the shattered ridge above the gravefields, vast and unmistakable. A pair of golden eyes gleam between the broken pillars, watching the hive reassemble.\n\nThis was no natural revival.\nNo ancient instinct.\nNo forgotten cycle.\n—\nIt was a summons.\n"}]}