The world quivered with sound.
At first, it was faint—like wind through hollow bones. Then it grew, seeping into their joined minds, reshaping the choir’s fragile lody into sothing jagged, poisonous.
The Unborn was singing.
Its voice did not co from above but from within. Each survivor heard it in the cracks of their own hearts, in their worst mories, in the voices of the dead they had lost.
The farr fell to his knees, clutching his head as three phantom voices—his sons—called to him. “Father, why did you leave us? Why do you live while we burn?” His grief rippled through the bond, infecting others with despair.
A widow scread as her husband’s laughter echoed in her skull, warped and cruel. “I starved so you could eat, and still you beg for life? You’re nothing but carrion.” Her sobs bled into the chain, weakening its glow.
Kael felt the invasion tearing at him, trying to wear his own guilt as a blade. He heard the voices of every comrade he had failed to save, every friend who had fallen at his side. “You bind them only to break them. You call yourself father when you bring only ruin.”
For a heartbeat, Kael staggered, his grip on the fused blade faltering. The lattice above dimd, threads unraveling.
Elara’s cry cut through the storm. She clutched the boy tighter, pressing her face to his hair, refusing to yield. “Do not listen! The voice is not theirs—it is his! He twists mory to chain us with lies.”
But the scarred woman threw back her head, laughter breaking into sobs. “Lies? Or truth we’ve always buried? You feel it too—your weakness, your sha. You can’t silence it. None of us can.”
Her despair hamred the bond like a poisoned spike. Dozens of survivors buckled, their song faltering.
The boy stirred weakly, his glow flickering. His whisper pulsed through the bond, fragile yet clear: “Not silence... answer.”
Kael felt it then—not the need to deny the voices, but to drown them out. He staggered to his feet, his own voice raw but unbroken. “Sing back!”
He roared, not words but a bellow of defiance. The sound carried into the bond, filling the cracks where despair had seeped. Elara followed, her voice ragged with grief but strong with fire. One by one, others joined—so weeping, so screaming, all pouring their rawest selves into the chorus.
The choir surged. Not perfect, not harmonious, but thunderous.
The Unborn’s hymn faltered, clashing with their song. The fissure above writhed, sparks raining like blood. Its voice turned to a hiss: “You dare sing against ? Then I will show you dissonance that tears worlds apart.”
Chains shrieked as black smoke forced its way between the glowing links, twisting them into jagged barbs. The choir held, but every note cost them blood, mory, and breath.
Kael grit his teeth, shouting into the storm: “Then we’ll sing until we tear our throats out!”
The choir blazed. The Unborn struck back.
The battle was no longer of swords or fla—
It was of voices.
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