The Vault of Silence was never meant to be opened.
Forged from obsidian, divine marrow, and Leviathan bone, it was built at the cost of an entire ocean tribe—its purpose singular:
To contain the first scream.
But the scream never faded. It waited.
Now, the seal groaned. Cracks webbed across the surface like veins. Ancient runes flickered, flickered… and died.
Then—one snap. A soundless fracture.
Followed by another.
And then… release.
From the pitch-black rift, something slithered.
A hand first—not shaped like any mortal's. Translucent, gnarled, with webbing torn by centuries of silence.
Then came breath. The kind of breath that made the water curl backward.
A head lifted, crowned in bone and lightless pearls. Its eyes opened—not forward, but sideways. Multitudes.
It had no name anymore.
But once, it had been the Sea's First Voice.
And now, it was free.
Above, mid-battle, Lyrielle faltered.
A tremor passed through the water—not pressure, not current.
It was presence.
