#2
The sky beyond the narrow windows of the archive chamber had shifted from sunset orange to deep violet, yet Thalia still sat motionless at her desk. Before her lay The Fading Locket, like an alien creature that had just dismantled her world.
"Thalia," Kaelen hissed for the umpteenth time. He had fetched water, closed the door, and was now kneeling beside her, trying to catch her gaze. "You have to talk. What did you see?"
What had she seen?
Echoes usually came as fragments—shards of emotion, flashes of images, broken strands of sound. But this one… was whole. Preserved deliberately. A memory carefully sealed within fading silver.
"She was… my mother," Thalia finally said, her voice hoarse, rusted with disbelief. The word felt foreign in her mouth. Until now, her parents had been an absence; an empty fact that Master Roland had taken her in as an orphaned infant from an orphanage in Veridia. Not a secret—just a part of herself she had never examined too closely. "And Melpomene… she called her 'sister.'"
Kaelen fell silent, processing. "So you're the Grand Chancellor's niece?" he whispered, eyes widening. "Why does no one know? Why hide you here?"
"That's the question," Thalia murmured. Her hand reached for the locket again, this time gloved. The artificial silence still clung to it—a magical seal designed to prevent casual readings. But the memory remained inside, embedded like a diamond core. Someone had placed the seal after storing their memory. "And the song… Roland sang the exact same one every night."
Kaelen stood and began pacing the small room. "This is too big, Thalia. The Chancellor's personal artifact suddenly sent to you? Right after you found something wrong with that bronze medallion? This isn't coincidence."
"Or it's a test," Thalia countered, her mind shifting gears, shock giving way to analysis. "Or… a message."
"A message from whom? Roland? The Chancellor herself?"
"I don't know." Thalia carefully opened the locket. Inside was a faded miniature portrait—laughing eyes, dark hair falling freely. A face she had already seen in the echo. Her mother. The opposite side was empty, but scarred, as if something had once been affixed there and later pried away. "But something's missing. A second portrait… or maybe an inscription."
Footsteps in the corridor made them both tense. Not Roland's heavy stride, but light and measured steps. Lady Isolde appeared in the doorway, leaning on a finely carved wooden cane. Her wrinkled face looked harmless enough, but her eyes—sharp, pale blue—went straight to the locket in Thalia's hands.
"Ah, young apprentice," she said, her voice raspy but clear. "I seem to have lost my way while searching for records on ancient apple varieties for my garden. But it appears I'm interrupting something important."
"Not at all, Lady Isolde," Thalia replied quickly, closing the locket and returning it to its box. "We were just finishing."
The old woman's gaze did not move. "A fine box. A phoenix with a broken wing… the sigil of House Melpomene, is it not? One rarely sees their personal artifacts circulate." She stepped closer as if to inspect it, but her whisper was meant only for Thalia and Kaelen. "They say the phoenix broke its wing choosing to save its child from the fire instead of flying away to save itself. An interesting choice for a family symbol, don't you think?"
She studied Thalia intently, and for a fleeting moment, a sharp awareness flickered behind the mask of senility. Then she turned and shuffled away. "Apples… yes, the records must be in the eastern wing."
She left, the silence she took with her heavier than before.
"What was that?" Kaelen whispered.
"A warning," Thalia said softly. "Or an offer of help." Her hand clenched. "I need to talk to Roland."
Roland was not in his office. His usually immaculate desk was in disarray—open scrolls, scattered notes, and an old map of Gloomwald marked with red ink at several locations. Thalia hadn't intended to snoop, but one thing caught her eye: along the map's edge, in Roland's hurried handwriting, were the words—
"Last confirmed location – A PROMISE HE BROKE?"
Thalia's heart slammed against her ribs. She glanced toward the corridor, then quickly took a blank scrap of paper and copied the phrase. As she did, her eyes caught another note, written beneath a list of newly arrived artifacts:
"Medallion 447-B: Origin confirmed. Battle of Bloodlake, 15 years ago. Unit involved: 7th Border Guard. All declared KIA. Except one: Lieutenant Elias Vance. Declared deserter. Still at large."
Elias Vance. The name meant nothing to her. But the Battle of Bloodlake… a minor border conflict in Gloomwald, nearly forgotten. Why was Roland so focused on it?
Footsteps approached. Thalia pocketed the note and stepped back just as someone entered—not Roland, but Arcanist Felwin, a senior colleague who had never hidden his disdain for Thalia's work.
"Apprentice," he said condescendingly, eyes sweeping the cluttered office. "Looking for Master Roland? He's been summoned to the Chancellor's tower. Urgent business." A thin smile crept onto his lips. "High-tier artifact security protocols. Seems there's been… an information leak."
He gave Thalia a pointed look before leaving.
"You need to go," Kaelen said abruptly once they were back in Thalia's workspace. "Felwin's a spy for the Preservationist faction. If he suspects you—"
"I didn't do anything wrong," Thalia protested, though her voice lacked conviction.
"You listened to the Chancellor's locket. That's enough." Kaelen grabbed her arm. "Listen. There's a safe place in Gloomwald. An Echo-Touched community. They'll hide you."
"Run? That makes me look guilty!"
"Staying makes you look dead!"
Their argument was cut short by the low toll of an alarm bell echoing through the Chamber. Three rings, a pause, two rings. The code for: All arcanists to the main hall. Immediately.
They stared at each other. That signal was rarely used.
The main hall of the Chamber of Whispers was a vast, curved space with a ceiling three stories high, its walls adorned with murals of Aethelgard's history—King Aethelun receiving the "heavenly song," the founding of Lumenspire, the discovery of great artifacts. Around fifty arcanists and apprentices had already gathered, murmuring with speculation.
Thalia and Kaelen took a place near the back. Roland stood at the podium, his face carved from stone. Beside him stood the figure who silenced the hall instantly: Grand Chancellor Melpomene.
She was taller than Thalia had imagined, her posture immaculate, her gold-embroidered robes falling perfectly. Her iron-gray hair was bound in a severe bun, her features as sharp as in the echo—now overlaid with unquestionable authority. Her eyes, storm-gray, swept the crowd and for a brief instant locked with Thalia's.
No recognition. No anger. Only cold assessment, like a scholar examining a specimen.
"Thank you for assembling so quickly," Roland said, breaking the silence. His voice was flat, professional. "The Grand Chancellor is here to announce a new security initiative. Show respect."
Melpomene stepped forward. Her voice was clear and resonant, filling the hall without force. "The Chamber of Whispers is the final bastion of our knowledge. Here, we tame the echoes of the past so they do not disrupt the present." She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. "Recently, there has been an increase in… leaks. Echoes meant to remain silent have been heard by unauthorized ears. Memories meant to stay sealed have been questioned."
She withdrew an object from her robes—the same bronze medallion Thalia had examined. Its patina was completely gone, revealing the shattered star in full.
"This artifact, from the Battle of Bloodlake, contains echoes capable of destabilizing our carefully maintained historical narrative," Melpomene continued, her gaze circling the room. "Anyone who has 'listened' to it may draw incorrect conclusions. Dangerous ones."
Roland stood rigid beside her. Thalia noticed his clenched fists behind his back.
"Effective immediately," Melpomene said, "all artifacts classified above Tier Three will require dual authorization for access. All echo-readings must be fully documented and submitted for review. And anyone found concealing discoveries… will be deemed guilty of treason against the throne."
A hiss of breath swept through the hall. The restrictions were massive—a yoke on their work.
"Questions?" Melpomene asked.
Thalia's voice rose before her mind could stop it. "Chancellor," she said, and every head turned. "How do we distinguish between a 'stable narrative' and historical truth?"
A deadly silence followed. Felwin looked at her with triumph. Roland closed his eyes briefly.
Melpomene regarded her calmly. "Truth, apprentice, is a double-edged blade. Studied without wisdom, it wounds more souls than a compassionate lie ever could." She paused. "Your name?"
"Thalia, Chancellor."
"Thalia," Melpomene repeated, and for the first time, something shifted beneath her tone—an echo of an echo Thalia had once heard. Something almost like… recognized grief. "My advice to you: sometimes the greatest archivists are not those who uncover the most truths, but those who know which truths must remain whispers."
The meeting ended soon after. The arcanists dispersed, faces tight with worry. As Thalia turned to leave, a hand landed on her shoulder. Roland.
"My office," he whispered harshly. "Now."
Roland's office was dark, lit only by a single crystal on his desk. He didn't sit behind it; instead, he stood by the window, staring at the Chancellor's tower rising in the distance.
"What were you thinking?" he asked at last, his voice weary. "Challenging her like that in public?"
"She's silencing us," Thalia said, fighting the tremor in her voice. "And you know it. And you knew about the locket. About my mother. About Melpomene. Why didn't you tell me?"
Roland turned. For the first time since she had known him, he looked old—fragile. "To protect you," he said simply. "My promise to your mother."
"What promise?"
"To keep you safe. And safe meant ignorant."
"Safe from what? From whom?"
Roland stepped closer, lowering his voice to a near whisper. "From the same truth that killed her, Thalia. Your mother, Althea, was the greatest Echo-Whisperer of her generation. She and Melpomene were sisters, but they believed different things. Althea believed the 'Grand Tapestry'—the network of artifacts that preserves Aethelgard's true history—had to be understood. Melpomene believed it had to be protected, even if that meant hiding it."
"What happened?"
"Althea found something. Something embedded in The Silent Heart. She tried to access it… and the echo killed her. Not an accident, Thalia. A defense. That artifact was designed to kill anyone who tried to uncover its secret." Roland exhaled heavily. "Melpomene witnessed it. And from that day on, she swore there would be no more victims. She would lock away every path to that truth."
"And me?"
"You are Althea's child. Her blood runs in you. Your ability… it's no coincidence. Melpomene believed you died with her. I hid you, brought you here, to the last place she would ever expect—right under her nose." Roland's gaze burned into her. "But now she suspects. The locket was a test. To see if you would 'listen.' And you did."
The room spun. Her entire life was a lie. Her identity, her family, even Roland's protection—all built on concealment.
"So what do I do now?" Thalia asked, barely audible.
"What I've always told you," Roland replied, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Silence the echoes, Thalia. Forget what you heard from the locket. Focus on harmless tasks. Survive."
But as Thalia left his office, the words felt hollow. The locket's echo was no longer just a memory—it was a summons. Her mother's lullaby, Melpomene's youthful grief, a broken promise…
And the bronze medallion. Lieutenant Elias Vance, still alive. A promise he broke.
Everything connected. A pattern larger than Roland or Melpomene could see.
When she reached her workspace, Kaelen was already waiting, face pale. "Felwin and two other arcanists are searching through all your records," he whispered. "They have warrants from the Chancellor's office."
On her desk, the crate containing the bronze medallion was gone.
But on the floor, nearly invisible, lay a small scrap of fallen parchment—perhaps torn from Roland's notes. Two words were written on it:
Vance lives. Gloomwald.
Thalia picked it up, her heart beating to a new rhythm—not fear, but resolve.
Melpomene wanted all truths to remain whispers.
But some whispers were too loud to silence.
That night, for the first time, Thalia did not wait for Roland to sing the lullaby. She sang it herself, softly in the darkness of her room, feeling every note as inheritance, as question, as weapon.
She had heard the whisper.
Now, she had to find the voice behind it.