Episode 16 — The Voice That Wakes
It did not stop raining.
It came in slow, whispering threads that soaked the garden paths, painting the world in shades of silver. The moon hid behind heavy clouds while the palace lights shimmered like distant ghosts through the mist.
Elara hadn't moved in hours. She sat beneath the marble archway, her cloak pulled tight, watching Alex sleep. Or at least, pretending he slept.
The lamb's chest rose and fell too evenly, too measured-as if counting something she couldn't hear. Every now and then, his ears twitched, or his hooves scraped the ground in tiny, restless motions. His wool glowed faintly beneath the rain, like gold trapped under snow.
"Still dreaming, aren't you?" she whispered, brushing her hand over his head. "You've been strange since that explosion."
Alex heard her through the haze. He wanted to answer, to tell her that something inside him was alive and whispering, but the voice never left. It stayed in the back of his thoughts, patient and coiled, like smoke waiting to become flame.
"Do you know what happens when a seal breaks?" it muttered, threading through his mind. "Do you know what you free?"
He tried to fight it. Get out of my head.
"Your head? No, little echo. This mind is for both of us."
He jerked suddenly, his eyes flashing blue once more. The color reflected in the puddles, bright enough this time that Elara could see it.
"Alex?" She leaned in closer, her voice tight. "Hey… what's happening to you?"
He tried to bleat, but it came out broken — a rasp that didn't sound like a lamb at all.
Elara's heart pounded. She reached for him, then froze as the ground trembled. The ripples in the puddles expanded outward, in slow and deliberate circles, like a heartbeat from the earth itself.
Thistle's fur stood on end. "It's the vault," she whispered. "Something's moving again."
Before Elara could respond, a deep groan rumbled from the palace — stone grating on stone. Windows rattled. The distant toll of the bell tower cracked the night.
"Guards," Elara muttered. "They must think it's another attack.
"No." Thistle's tail lashed. "That's not guards. That's it."
The vibration grew, crawling up through Alex's hooves and spine. He felt the presence stir-vast and ancient, its voice now a roar instead of a whisper.
"You woke me once," it said. "Now I wake you."
His vision filled with images that were not his own, he saw spirals of gold, cities buried under waves, and eyes carved into mountains. And he saw others of his kind, hundreds, standing in rings of light, before they fell silent.
He gasped inwardly, his wool crackling with static. What am I?
The answer came like thunder.
"Memory."
The word shattered the trance. Alex's body convulsed. Light spilled from his chest in a pulse that struck the wet grass and burned faint lines into the earth — symbols that glowed briefly before fading.
Elara shielded her face from the light and flinched back. "Alex!"
Then — stillness. The rain hissed as it touched the scorched earth.
Elara slowly lowered her arm. Alex lay motionless now, eyes dim, the glow gone.
"Please," she whispered, falling to her knees. "Don't—don't die on me."
She lifted him, clutching him to her chest. His body was cold now, lighter somehow, as if hollow. But faintly, she heard a sound — not breathing but humming — like a song from deep in his wool.
"Thistle," she said, her voice shaking. "We've got to get help. Now."
Thistle's ears flicked. "Help? From whom? The healers would turn him over to the scholars. They'd cut him open to see why he glows."
Elara hesitated. She knew Thistle was right. Still, she couldn't just watch him fade.
"I know somewhere," she whispered, "an old chapel in the servant quarter. They say the priest there deals with… strange things."
Thistle frowned but nodded. "Then hurry. Before the others find us."
They ran-or rather, Elara ran, clutching Alex tightly, with Thistle darting ahead through shadows. The palace was a maze of damp corridors and echoing steps; voices called orders from far-off halls, and once, the beam of a lantern swept past, barely missing them.
They came to a narrow stair spiraling down; with each step, the air grew cold, carrying the scent of dust and forgotten incense. By the time they reached the chapel door, Elara's arms ached, and Alex was eerily still.
She knocked once.
The door opened of its own accord.
A man stood within, clad in grey, his eyes pale as the dawn. "You shouldn't be here, child," he said softly. "Not tonight."
Elara gave a slight inclination of her head. "Please. I need help. My friend—he's…sick."
The man's eyes came to rest on the lamb. For a moment, his face was immobile. Then he stepped aside. "Bring him in."
The chapel was dimly lit with only blue candles. There were carvings along the walls — symbols Alex had recognized from his vision. The air vibrated faintly as if charged.
The priest laid a hand over the lamb's forehead. "He's not dying," he whispered. "He's remembering."
Elara blinked. "Remembering? What does that mean?"
The priest regarded her with quiet sorrow. "It means he's older than you think."
Before she could ask more, Alex stirred again, eyes opening onto a dim, steady light. He looked at the priest and felt an old recognition, like meeting a shadow of a dream.
"You," he whispered — and this time, his mouth truly spoke.
Elara gasped, stumbling back. "You…you can talk?!"
Alex blinked, the sound of his own voice — low, tired, but unmistakably human — startling him. "Elara, I— I didn't mean to hide it. I just—"
"You can talk," she repeated, half laughing, half crying. "All this time—!"
The priest's hand rose delicately. "Later. The memory hasn't finished binding."
The earth shook again, and the candles danced in their wicks. A mark shone beneath Alex's wool, the same symbol cut into the floor of the vault.
The priest's face darkened. "They found you again."
"Who?" Elara demanded. "Who's after him?"
"The Echoborn," he said grimly. "What sleeps beneath the palace calls to its kin. And your friend here… is one of them."
Alex's heart pounded. "That thing inside me -- it's alive."
"Yes," said the priest. "And if it wakes fully, it will consume you."
Silence ensued.
Elara's throat tightened. "Then how do we stop it?"
The priest turned toward the altar. "You can't stop what's meant to wake. But you can choose where it wakes."
He drew a sigil in the air, glowing faint gold. "There's a sanctuary beyond the ruins of Arvelon. A temple older than this kingdom. If you reach it before the next moonrise, the seal might hold."
Thistle hissed softly. "That's days away. The patrols alone—"
"I'll go," Elara said before she could stop herself. "I'll take him there."
The priest studied her and then nodded once. "Then go quickly, before dawn. The Echo will follow the pulse."
He looked at Alex again, his eyes unreadable. "Remember this, little one: memory is power, but power without purpose devours its vessel. Do not listen to the voice when it calls your name."
Alex nodded his head weakly. "I'll try."
Elara gathered him again, trembling but resolute. "Come on. We'll make it."
Thistle darted ahead, leading them along back corridors past the chapel. As the first light of dawn broke over the palace, Elara stepped into the mist, clutching her talking lamb — no longer just a frightened pet, but something ancient and dangerous.
Behind them, the priest watched from the doorway. The blue candles flickered and he whispered to the empty air:
"So the Echo walks again…may the stars forgive us."
Far beneath, below the palace, the ancient hum rose again — soft, rhythmic, hungry.
And this time, it whispered not just Alex's name…
…but Elara's