The shattered fragments of the leader's blade still glimmered faintly in the fog. Armand stared at them, his chest heaving, the whisper in his own knife fading to a calm hum. Grace Johnson placed a hand on his shoulder, steadying him.
"We need to return to the Circle," she said. "They must know the Severed Tongues are moving openly again."
Armand nodded, though doubt gnawed at him. Wright's words echoed in his mind — parasites… chains… silence. He couldn't shake the feeling that the whispers were hiding something.
Back in the library's hidden chamber, the Circle gathered around the lantern-lit table. Their knives hummed softly, a chorus of voices waiting to be heard. Grace recounted the battle, her tone sharp and precise.
"They're organized," she warned. "Wright is gathering them. The Severed Tongues won't stop until the Circle is destroyed."
The elder at the head of the table leaned forward, his eyes shadowed. "Then we must prepare. The war we feared has begun."
Armand felt every gaze turn toward him. He was the newest, the untested, yet the whispers had chosen him. The elder's voice was heavy with expectation.
"You heard the warning. You fought beside Grace. Now you must decide — will you stand with the Circle, or will you let silence consume us?"
Armand's blade hummed faintly, whispering its steady rhythm. But beneath it, another voice stirred — softer, darker, a whisper he hadn't heard before.