The fire had burned low, embers pulsing faintly like the last beats of a dying heart. Kael hadn't slept. Every time the branches shifted or the wind sighed, his hand darted to his blade.
He could still see the mask. Bone-white, cracked, empty eyes staring through him as if he were already dead.
"Rest," Vox's voice cut through the dark. He hadn't moved from his place in the shadows, but his eyes were open, glimmering faintly.
Kael shook his head. "I can't. They were watching us. They—"
"They're gone." Vox's tone was even, but firm. "If the Choir had wanted us tonight, we would not be speaking now."
The words offered no comfort.
Kael swallowed. "The… Mute Choir. That's what they are, isn't it?"
For the first time, Vox's expression shifted. Not surprise — but the faintest trace of acknowledgment. "You've heard the name."
"Just whispers. At the Academy." Kael's voice was low. "Stories about villages where no one screams. Places where even the wind dies." He hesitated. "I thought they were myths."
"They are more than myths." Vox rose smoothly, pulling his cloak over his shoulders. The firelight caught the scar across his jaw, a reminder of his own battles. "The Choir are silence given form. Assassins, zealots, hunters of resonance itself. Their song is the absence of sound."
Kael's throat tightened. "Why were they here?"
Vox's gaze lingered on him for a long moment. Too long. "…Perhaps they were not here for us. Or perhaps," his voice dropped into something colder, "they were here for you."
The weight of the words pressed Kael into the dirt. Him? Why him? He had only just begun to grasp his resonance, to control the silence that seemed to tear free whenever he lost focus. Why would a group that terrifying be watching him?
Vox turned toward the dark treeline, as though the shadows might still be listening. "Either way, we cannot remain. We move at first light."
⸻
The Journey Deeper
At dawn, the valley shimmered with dew, every blade of grass glinting like glass. Kael trudged after Vox, fatigue burning in his muscles. The silence of the night still clung to him, but with each step, he forced his breath steady.
Vox spoke little as they descended deeper into the ruins, but when he did, it was cutting instruction.
"Feel the quiet before your strike. Let it coil, heavy, suffocating. When you release it, your enemy must already be drowning."
Kael tried. Each time, he could summon a faint stillness — the chirping of birds faltering, the rustle of leaves pausing — but it slipped, weak, uncontrolled.
"Again," Vox ordered.
Sweat rolled down Kael's neck as he forced the silence outward. This time it spread farther, smothering the crunch of gravel under his boots. For a moment, he felt it — the stillness, the weight of a world holding its breath. Then it snapped, and sound returned all at once, a crash against his ears.
"Better." Vox's voice betrayed nothing, but Kael caught the faintest nod.
⸻
The Warning
By midday, the ruins opened onto a broken causeway that spanned a chasm. The bridge was cracked, its stones held together by little more than moss and memory.
Kael stopped at the edge, his chest tightening. "Is this… safe?"
"No," Vox said simply. He stepped onto the bridge. "But necessary."
Kael followed, the abyss yawning below. Halfway across, a sound reached him — faint, almost imagined. A note, sung not with a voice but with the absence of one. His skin prickled.
Vox froze. His head tilted, listening to a silence deeper than silence.
"They're here," he said quietly.
Kael's heart lurched. "The Choir?"
Vox's hand rested on his weapon, but his voice remained steady. "Not all battles are meant to be fought, Kael. Some are meant to remind you that you are still prey."
Kael swallowed, his gaze darting across the ruins. He saw nothing — but he felt them. Watching. Waiting.
The bridge groaned beneath them. The silence deepened.
And then — it broke. A raven cawed overhead, sharp and sudden, as though the spell had lifted. The weight in the air receded, leaving Kael gasping.
Vox exhaled slowly. "We move. And we do not look back."
Kael obeyed, though every step felt heavier. He knew, with bone-deep certainty, that this mission was no longer just training. It was survival.
And the Mute Choir had chosen to let them live.
For now.