The cavern throbbed like a wound.
Silver veins along the root flared, spasmed, then dimmed to black. The whispers in the silence grew sharper, louder — no longer distant murmurs, but jagged fragments of voices, as though countless mouths tried to speak through one throat.
Elara pressed her back to the root, clutching her skull. The sound wasn't sound. It was pressure. Words forced into her mind:
They sang. They bound. They fell. You cannot remember what is already gone.
She gasped, her sun-eye flaring in defiance. "I do remember. And so does he."
Her gaze fell on Jorn.
The boy had woken. His eyes glimmered faintly in the dark, not golden like hers, not silver like the veins — but both, twined together. He hummed again, quiet, uncertain.
And the cavern answered.
The silver veins lit in rhythm with his fragile tune. For a heartbeat, the silence recoiled.
Then it struck back.
From the far walls, shadows peeled free — dozens, then hundreds. They were no longer shaped like Eaters. These were thinner, taller, their forms stretched and broken, as if human figures had been pulled into threads. Their mouths gaped wide, but instead of sound, nothing came. Nothing but the weight of void.
The Hollow Choir.
Their movements were jagged, marionette-like, their limbs jerking as though yanked by invisible strings. Each step sent a wave of silence rolling across the cavern, smothering Jorn's tune, drowning the survivors' breath.
Seris's hands shook as she notched an arrow. "Gods above…"
Marek planted his feet before the boy, shield raised, blade ready. His heart hammered like a war drum, but his voice was steady. "Then we cut down the choir."
They came all at once.
The Choir surged forward, black ribbons of void snapping like whips from their limbs. Marek's shield caught the first strike, the impact rattling his bones. He slashed, steel biting into nothing — the figure split apart but reformed instantly, its shape unraveling and coalescing again.
"Not steel!" Tomas shouted, drawing glyphs into the air with bleeding fingers. "They're woven from memory itself!"
He finished the rune, light flaring outward. One of the Choir shrieked voicelessly, its form scattering like smoke in wind. But three more pressed in, drowning Tomas in their shadow.
"Elara!" he cried.
Her sun-eye burned, spilling golden fire across the cavern. Light speared through two of the Choir, unraveling their threadlike bodies. Yet the effort sent her collapsing to one knee, blood pouring from her nose.
Seris loosed arrow after arrow, but each shaft dissolved midflight. Snarling, she ripped a dagger free, slashing at the shadows that drew too close.
And through it all, Jorn hummed.
His song wavered, fragile, cracking with fear. But it was enough. Each note pierced the cavern like dawn, holding the Choir at bay. The silver veins glowed brighter, thrumming in harmony with him.
"Elara!" Seris shouted, voice breaking. "Guide him! He can't hold this alone!"
Elara staggered to the boy, clutching his small shoulders. "Listen to me," she whispered, though her own voice was raw. "Don't fear them. They only have power if you let them take your song. Yours is stronger."
Jorn's lips trembled. "But I'm… I'm scared."
"So am I," Elara said, her sun-eye blazing with light. "So are we all. But fear is still memory. Hold on to it. Shape it. Sing through it."
He nodded, tears streaking his face. Then he opened his mouth and sang.
Not a hum. Not a whisper. A clear, fragile melody.
The cavern shook as silver veins blazed like fire. The Choir convulsed, their forms unraveling in spasms of shadow and light. One by one, they fractured into nothing, pulled apart by the boy's song.
When the last of them dissolved, the cavern fell silent again — but this time, the silence trembled.
As if it had been wounded.
The survivors collapsed against the root, battered, bleeding, but alive.
Elara held Jorn close, her chest heaving. His eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion overtaking him, but his melody still lingered faintly in the air.
Tomas dragged himself upright, staring at the veins that still glowed like starlight. "We hurt it," he whispered. "The silence itself. For the first time in ages."
Marek leaned on his sword, glaring into the abyss below. "Then it will come for us harder."
Elara lifted her gaze, her sun-eye still burning faintly. "Then we'll go deeper. Before it can stop us."
The root pulsed once, violently. A new passage opened in the cavern wall, veins of silver tracing a downward path.
The way forward.
The glow of the veins dimmed, leaving the cavern awash in trembling shadow. Dust settled like falling ash, and the silence pressed in once more.
But it was not the same silence.
It ached. It feared.
The survivors lay scattered around the root, their chests heaving, their bodies bruised and cut. The Choir was gone, unraveled by Jorn's song, but its memory lingered like smoke clinging to their lungs.
Marek lowered his sword at last, though his grip was white-knuckled. His shield arm quivered from the blows it had taken, and blood trickled from a gash above his eye. "Never seen shadows die so loud," he muttered, though there had been no sound at all.
Seris crouched beside him, pulling her last arrow free from the stone. It was cracked, useless. She tossed it aside, then reached for Jorn. The boy had slumped against Elara's chest, his breath shallow but steady. His lips were still moving, forming the faint shape of a melody even in sleep.
"He's burning himself out," Seris said, her voice breaking. "If he keeps giving like this…"
Elara brushed the boy's hair back, her own hand trembling. "I'll keep him safe. Even if it costs me." Her sun-eye flickered weakly, as though agreeing.
Tomas limped toward the root, his robes torn and smeared with blood. His hands still glowed faintly with the glyphs he had traced, but they were shaky, the light flickering like dying coals. He pressed his palm to the silver-veined surface, and a shudder ran through him.
"I can hear them," he whispered. "All the memories the silence hasn't swallowed. Songs, prayers, names. Fragments clinging to the root."
Marek frowned. "Fragments don't help us fight."
But Tomas only shook his head, his eyes distant. "Fragments are all that's left of the world. If we can weave them together again, maybe we can bind the silence. Maybe…" His words faltered, and he slumped to his knees, drained.
The ground gave another tremor. A low vibration ran through the cavern, deeper and angrier than before.
Elara's head snapped up. Her sun-eye widened, glowing despite her exhaustion. "It's watching us."
"Where?" Marek asked, raising his blade again.
"Everywhere," she whispered.
The walls around them shivered, the veins flickering on and off. For an instant, Elara saw faces — hollow, stretched, and countless — pressed against the stone as if trying to break through.
Then they were gone.
Jorn stirred faintly, his voice so soft it was barely breath. "It's not done. The Choir was only its voice. Its heart is deeper. Much deeper."
Marek swore under his breath. "Then why show us a path?" He gestured at the glowing fissure that had opened in the cavern wall. "What if it's leading us where it wants us to die?"
Elara tightened her hold on the boy. "Because it doesn't understand. It thinks fear will break us. But as long as even one song survives…" She glanced at Jorn. "…it's wrong."
The survivors rose slowly, broken but unbowed. Supplies were scarce, arrows nearly gone, glyph-ink spent. Yet the path beckoned, silver veins glowing faintly like threads of starlight leading them deeper.
Before following, Marek touched the root one last time. He didn't expect an answer, but he spoke anyway, his voice a low growl.
"If you remember her — Nalia — hold tight to it. Don't let the silence take her."
The root pulsed faintly beneath his hand, almost like agreement.
Marek swallowed hard, then turned to the others. "Let's move before it wakes something worse."
Together, they stepped toward the new passage.
Behind them, the cavern darkened. The silver veins dimmed to black, and the silence swelled like a tide.
And from somewhere deep within, a new sound rose — not broken song, not voiceless shriek.
But a single, steady heartbeat.
Waiting.