Leyla stood at the edge of the shadows, her form all smoke and starlight, her eyes gleaming like twin galaxies. Curiosity burned there, and something else. Something that almost looked like pride. "You escaped perfection," she said, her voice a silk thread winding through the dark. "I am impressed."
I stood tall, shoulders squared, though my pulse thundered in my ears. "I knew the child was the only thing that might have worked against you," she went on, stepping closer, circling. "Most are given sorrow. Pain. Loss. And they never leave. But that would not have worked on you, would it?"
I didn't answer. I didn't need to. Her head tilted, studying me as if I were some rare bloom forcing its way out of stone. "You passed," she said at last. "So I will give you something else. Something no one else will. A truth carved from your mind long ago. A memory the priests tried to erase."
The shadows stirred, then froze.
Her body went rigid. Galaxies blinked out in her eyes, swallowed by void. When she spoke again, the voice wasn't hers. It was older. Cracked. Stone grinding against stone. "If Aerion dies," it rasped, "the seals will begin to weaken. And something older than the gods will wake."
I flinched. "Seals?"
Leyla didn't respond. The voice poured through her, layered and terrible: "The Pantheon does not stand because we are strong. It stands because something worse agreed not to notice us."
The darkness pulsed, pressing into my ribs like weight I couldn't hold. "You are not the first to bear the runes. You are the last to carry the key. Do not seek the door."
Leyla gasped, stumbling like she'd been shaken from a dream. Her eyes flared back to starlight, flickering confusion. "…What? What just happened?"
I stared at her, chest tight, breath shallow. The words burned in my bones. Don't seek the door. "Did I say something?" she asked.
I shook my head. "Nothing," I lied. Because I couldn't give that truth away. Not yet. Maybe not ever. My hands curled into fists at my sides. That hadn't been a gift. It had been a crack in the mirror. A warning.
I lifted my chin. "Will you activate my rune?"
Her mouth curled into something that was almost a grin. "I will."
My eyes narrowed. "What will it cost me?"
Her smoke shifted, her form circling me in slow, unraveling steps.
"What do you want it to cost?"
The question cut me deep. Because I didn't know if I wanted it to be easy, or if I wanted to bleed.
"So tell me, Rune-Carved," her voice wove through the dark. "What price will you pay for power?"
"Name it," I said. No hesitation.
Her smile turned sharp, amused. "Always so quick to give. That is what made you breakable once. But not anymore."
She stopped in front of me, galaxies spinning in her eyes. "You have reclaimed your body. You have fought for your choices. Carried pain as armor, and love as a blade."
Her hand slid down my forearm, cool, deliberate, resting where the old rune still slept beneath my skin. "But your voice… you have only just begun to wield that."
My throat tightened.
"I will awaken your rune," she said. "But you will not speak. Not a word. Not a whisper. You will try, and nothing will come."
My mouth parted, protest ready but she lifted her hand.
"Not a curse. A promise. Learn the language of silence. Of shadows. Of presence. That is where power lives. Not in noise. When you claim power over your voice you will have it back."
"Do you accept?"
I nodded the shadows surged. Light tore up my arm in violent violet waves, claws beneath my skin dragging secrets to the surface. My bones burned hollow, then filled with something older than air. My body convulsed, my mouth opened wide. Nothing. Not a sound. Not even a gasp.
Silence, absolute. Leyla's smile was regal. Distant. "Your silence begins now."
With that, she pressed her star glowing palm to my arm. The rune on my forearm blazed, violet flame licking out of my skin, alive, awakened, and waiting.
When the shadows fell away, I was standing at the edge of Arbor. Mist coiled through the garden. The silver-etched black door towered before me. Home. I raised a trembling hand and rang the bell. The door swung open instantly.
Malvor stood there, hair mussed like he'd been pacing, coffee in one hand. His grin broke wide the moment he saw me. "Annie," he breathed. "Hi, Annie, my love."
I didn't speak. I just threw myself into his arms. He staggered but caught me, holding me so tightly I thought he'd never let go. His lips pressed to my temple, my hair, my cheek.
"I missed you," he murmured. "I was going to pretend not to, but I did. Arbor missed you too, it started killing all the plants. I think it was mourning."
I buried my face against his chest. Clung like the silence might swallow me whole if I let go. He rubbed circles into my back, humming something off-key. "Want coffee? Want to go to bed? Or should I ask what horrors Leyla put you through?"
Still, I said nothing. Just held tighter. "Gods, you smell like shadows and secrets. Did she dip you in nightmare soup again?"
No answer. He pulled back finally, eyes searching. "Hey… Annie?"
I looked up, lashes wet, lips parted, still no words.
"…Annie?" He cupped my face. "You're not hurt, are you?"
I shook my head.
"Then what—" I saw it land in him. The silence. His heart stuttered. "…Say something," he whispered, voice cracking.
I only kissed his palm. He stepped back, shaken, pale. "What did she take from you?" He looked me over almost frantic. "Your voice? She took it?"
Tears stung my eyes. I reached up, traced his lips with my fingers, then curled my hand into the shape of I love you. His knees almost buckled. He pulled me close again, arms locking around me like he could hold the silence at bay.
"Okay," he whispered fiercely. "Okay. Then I'll speak enough for both of us." In that moment, in his arms, I believed him. Even in silence. Especially in silence.