They didn't speak for hours after the temple.
No one trusted their voice anymore.
The sigil at the altar had burned its way into all their minds, a cursed brand only placed by members of the Crimson Hand, the cult's inner circle.
One of them had lied.
And they all knew it.
They camped near the edge of Krev's Hollow, a ruined district soaked in old wars and older graves. Zaire stood on the rooftop, cloak fluttering behind him, eyes fixed on the stars that had stopped answering prayers.
Kael sat below, sketching diagrams in the ash, hands twitching from magic tremors.
Revyn collected bones from dead crows and hummed lullabies in reverse.
Lirien just cleaned her knives.
Silence strangled them all.
Until Zaire finally spoke.
"I'm going to find her. I don't care if it kills me."
Kael looked up, pale. "You're not talking about tracking—"
"I'm talking about the Bloodmark Ritual."
Lirien swore. "That's suicide. That spell hasn't been used since the Soul Wars."
"It's banned," Kael added. "For a reason."
Revyn grinned. "Then it must be useful."
Zaire ignored them. He unrolled a scroll bound in black leather, etched in violet ink, Eira's handwriting. The ritual she once warned him never to touch.
He sliced his palm open, let blood drip onto the page.
The ink drank it.
The air rippled.
Then he whispered the trigger phrase:
"Take me to the soul that still calls my name."
The pain was immediate.
A thousand needles behind his eyes. His veins burned. His ribs cracked inward.
Then he saw her.
Chained in a tower of bone. Suspended in a circle of mirrors. Her body is thin, pale, but alive.
Tubes of glowing magic fed into her spine. Her lips moved forming his name but no sound escaped.
Zaire collapsed, blood gushing from his nose and ears.
Kael caught him just before he hit the stone.
"Did you see her?" Lirien asked, voice urgent.
"Yes," Zaire gasped. "She's alive. In the mirror spire. Deep in the cult's core."
Revyn's grin faded.
"Then they're using her to feed the Voice Collector."
Kael went still.
"That thing is real?"
Revyn nodded grimly.
"A being that survives by consuming stolen voices. It mimics people perfectly. Gains power from the pain behind each scream."
Lirien's face twisted. "So every time she cries…"
"…it gets stronger," Zaire finished. "And more like her."
A wind tore through the hollow, unnatural and cold.
Lirien stood, eyes scanning the horizon.
"Something's coming."
Then the first scream hit — not from them.
From above.
A flock of ravens shattered mid-flight, falling in pieces.
And from the shadows stepped a man draped in rags stitched from human tongues. His eyes were covered. His mouth sewn shut. But voices, dozens of them… echoed from his skin.
The Voice Collector.
Zaire drew his blade. Magic flared.
But the Collector didn't attack, not yet.
He just turned toward Kael… and whispered.
"Liar."
Kael went rigid.
Zaire's heart dropped.
"What is he saying?" Zaire asked.
Kael didn't answer.
"Kael…"
Revyn snarled. "You leaking bastard. You gave them the temple's coordinates."
Kael finally looked up.
"I had to. They had my sister's voice. I thought it would buy time, not lead us into a trap. I didn't know they'd—"
Zaire punched him.
Hard.
Kael hit the ground, blood gushing from his lip.
"You betrayed her," Zaire growled, shaking. "You sold Eira's pain."
"I was trying to save someone!" Kael shouted back. "Don't pretend you wouldn't do the same if it was her."
Silence fell again.
Except for the Collector, who simply clapped… with Zaire's voice.
Mocking. Cold.
Zaire turned to the monster.
"You stole my voice," he hissed.
The Collector's sewn mouth pulled into something that might've been a smile.
"Then I'll steal everything else."