The cathedral's doors opened with a groan that reverberated like the tuning of an ancient instrument. Inside, darkness swallowed them whole—then bloomed into a tapestry of ghostly light. Rows of thrones, empty and broken, stretched into infinity. Each throne bore a crack down its center, and from within seeped pale fire, whispering in countless voices.
Silas approached the nearest. As he reached out, his reflection appeared—not of his body, but of memories he did not yet recall. The image showed him standing alone in a field of broken violins, a crown of shadows pressed upon his brow.
Lyra pulled him back sharply. "Don't touch it. These thrones are prisons. Fragments of gods who once sang creation into being… until they were silenced."
The voices grew louder. Silas realized the whispers weren't random. They were… hymns. Fractured, distorted, but familiar. He strained to listen, piecing the notes together.
"It's a dirge," he said softly. "A mourning song… for something that was erased."
Suddenly, the cathedral trembled. From the shadows emerged a figure cloaked in unraveling starlight, face hidden beneath a mask of cracked porcelain. Its voice cut through the hymns like a blade.
"You play their music, thief of echoes. Why?"
The being's words carried weight—an actual crushing gravity that forced Silas to his knees. His violin trembled in his hands.
"I… don't know," Silas admitted through gritted teeth. "But the song answers me. It's inside me."
The masked figure studied him in silence. Then, with a flick of its hand, the thrones shuddered, releasing shards of pale fire that floated toward Silas. Each shard whispered a word, fragments of languages long dead.
Lyra stepped forward. "Enough games. Who are you?"
The figure turned. "I am Archivist of the Hollow Choir. Keeper of what is erased. And your companion carries what should never have survived: the Echo Crown."
Silas froze. The memory of the vision—the crown of shadows—flashed through him again. His fingers tightened on the violin bow.
"The Echo Crown…?"
The Archivist inclined its head. "The last remnant of the First Symphony. A relic that allows its bearer not only to remember… but to command memory itself."
The revelation struck Silas like thunder. He stumbled back, the truth ringing in his veins. He was not just a survivor of broken time. He was carrying its crown.
And the Hollow Choir, rather than destroy him, were watching to see what he would do with it.