#3
Dawnlight slipped through the cracks of the stone windows, slicing through the thick mist that blanketed the Chamber of Whispers. Thalia had not slept. She sat on the edge of her bed, a sheet of parchment bearing those two words open on her lap, folded and unfolded so many times that its edges had begun to tear.
Vance lives. Gloomwald.
Beside it, atop the rough blanket, lay The Fading Locket. Its dark wooden case looked strikingly out of place in this modest room. Someone—perhaps Roland—had returned it to her bedside during the night. A silent warning? Or a surrender?
Roland's words echoed in her mind. "Protecting you." But what kind of protection blinded her? What kind concealed her blood, her history, the danger coiled within her own DNA?
She stood and approached the small mirror above the stone basin. The face staring back was pale, dark circles beneath honey-colored eyes inherited from her mother. All this time she had thought her eyes resembled Roland's—a pleasant coincidence. Now she knew the truth: they were Althea's legacy. Every line of her face was an echo she had never heard.
A sharp knock on the door made her flinch.
"Thalia? Are you all right?" Kaelen's voice came from the other side, a worried whisper.
She opened the door. Kaelen stood there holding two bundles of food from the kitchens—stale bread and a wedge of cheese. "You missed dinner. And this morning, Felwin and his squad are searching the eastern corridors. They're looking for something specific."
"Searching? On what grounds?"
"'Routine security inspection by order of the Chancellor,'" Kaelen mimicked with a sneer. "But their eyes were hunting. They asked about the bronze medal records, the archives of the Battle of the Bloody Lake… and about the arcanist assigned to review them."
Cold crept down Thalia's spine. "What did you say?"
"I said I knew nothing. Just an assistant apprentice." Kaelen stepped inside and closed the door. His gaze fell on the locket on the bed. "You haven't returned it?"
"Roland returned it to me. I suppose… it's my decision now." Thalia picked up the locket and opened it. The portrait of the laughing woman seemed to challenge her. "I can't silence this, Kaelen. It's the only thing left of her."
"And it'll get you silenced forever if Melpomene finds out you're keeping it," Kaelen replied, though his voice lacked conviction. He stared at the portrait. "She's beautiful. Her eyes… like yours."
They fell silent, haunted by the ghost of a woman who had changed everything.
"What are you going to do?" Kaelen asked at last.
Thalia clenched her fist, the cold silver pendant biting into her palm. "Roland said my mother died trying to access 'The Silent Heart.' He said it was a defense mechanism. But… what if it wasn't?"
"What do you mean?"
"Echoes don't lie, Kaelen. But people misinterpret them. Or… deliberately twist them." She straightened, new resolve entering her voice. "I need the truth about my mother. And there are two paths: the Silent Heart itself, which is unreachable… or the person who witnessed her death."
"Melpomene."
"Yes. But she won't tell the truth." Thalia drew a breath. "There's another witness. The medal. The Battle of the Bloody Lake. Lieutenant Elias Vance." She held out the parchment. "Roland was searching for him. He believes Vance knows something about the 'Broken Promise.' Whose promise? Broken by whom?"
Kaelen read the two words, his brow furrowing. "You want to go to Gloomwald? That's insane. It's wild territory. Echo-Touched, mutated beasts, unstable magical remnants—"
"And communities that don't want to be found," Thalia cut in. "The perfect place for a deserter who wants to disappear. And…" She hesitated. "You said there's a safe place there. That Echo-Touched community. You know them, don't you?"
Kaelen looked away. That was answer enough.
"You're one of them," Thalia hissed as the pieces clicked into place. Kaelen's ability as a Memory Leech—rare, criminalized, unstable. "That's why you know the way."
"I… lived there once. Before Roland brought me here as an 'associate apprentice.'" Kaelen's jaw tightened. "But it's dangerous, Thalia. Not just the land. The Silent Concordat—the cult that worships the Celestial Chorus—they're strong there. And they don't like intruders."
"But they might know about Vance. Or about Aethelgard's real history." Thalia met his gaze, eyes blazing. "This is my only way forward, Kaelen. Here, I'm trapped. Felwin is watching me, Roland is silencing me, Melpomene…" She shuddered. "In Gloomwald, at least I can move. I can search for the truth."
Kaelen studied her for a long moment. Finally, he sighed and rubbed his face. "I'm insane for agreeing to this. But… yes. I know the way. And you'll need a guide if you don't want your soul torn apart by wild echoes in five minutes."
Relief washed over Thalia. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. We need preparations. Supplies, maps, echo protection… and we have to leave Lumenspire without being detected." He began pacing, planning in a low voice. "The eastern gate is heavily guarded. But there's… an old drainage channel. It flows into the river leading to the edge of Gloomwald. Dangerous, but passable."
"When?"
"Tonight. After the night watch changes." Kaelen stopped and looked at her seriously. "This is the point of no return, Thalia. If we go, we become fugitives. Deserters. There's no coming back if we don't find what we're looking for."
Thalia looked into the mirror again, into Althea's eyes. She saw the woman in the portrait, and the echo of a younger Melpomene. Two sisters, divided by truth.
"There's been no way back since I touched this locket," she replied softly.
The day dragged on with piercing tension. Thalia performed her duties—reorganizing catalogs, cleaning low-tier artifacts—with the feeling that she was acting in a play. Every footstep in the corridors made her heart race. Every glance from Felwin felt like an accusation.
At midday, she received an unexpected summons to the administrative office. A clerk with a blank expression handed her a document. "Notice of Ability Audit."
"By order of the Department of Arcanist Evaluation, all apprentices specializing in echo perception will undergo a re-assessment of competence next week," the clerk recited flatly. "The test will include controlled readings of mid-class artifacts and a psychic interview by an Inquisitor."
It was a trap. Or at least a way to cage her, to measure the extent of her abilities—and perhaps what she had heard.
"Is Master Roland aware of this?" Thalia asked, forcing an indifferent tone.
"All masters have been notified," the clerk replied, eyes empty. "Attendance is mandatory."
She left with the document burning in her hands. Next week. That was the deadline.
On her way back to the archive, she passed through a seldom-used corridor lined with statues of great arcanists of the past. There, seated on a bench beneath the statue of a woman holding a book and a sword, was Lady Isolde. She appeared to be resting, but as Thalia passed, she spoke without turning.
"The old apple tree in my garden bore fruit early this year. Small apples, sour… but full of flavor. Not like those large, bland market apples." At last she turned, a thin smile on her wrinkled lips. "Sometimes, things that grow in harsh soil develop the strongest character, wouldn't you agree?"
Thalia stopped. "What do you mean, Lady Isolde?"
"Oh, nothing, child. Just an old woman's musings on horticulture." But her eyes—razor-sharp—locked onto Thalia's. "Still, if you plan to… garden elsewhere, remember this: every soil has its weeds. And in Gloomwald, those weeds sometimes sing."
Thalia held her breath. Did she know? How?
"And," Isolde added almost inaudibly as Thalia prepared to leave, "if you meet Elara there… tell her the Forgetful One still remembers their chess games. And that her queen has moved."
Before Thalia could ask who Elara was, Isolde closed her eyes, feigning sleep.
Information. A clue. And a name: Elara.
Night fell slowly, heavy with tension. Thalia packed as lightly as possible—a flask of water, bread, a thick cloak, and her basic arcanist tools: silk gloves, a brush, a small resonance crystal to steady herself. And, of course, The Fading Locket, now hung around her neck, hidden beneath her tunic.
Kaelen appeared just after the midnight bell rang, carrying a small pack and a look of grim resolve. "The route's clear for now. Let's go."
They slipped through the darkest corridors of the Chamber, avoiding night patrols with Kaelen's intimate knowledge of their schedules. They descended to the lowest level—the utility spaces housing ancient heaters and water channels.
There, behind an iron rack of rusted tools, lay a loose metal grate. Kaelen pushed it aside, opening a narrow gap that exhaled the smell of earth and stagnant water.
"Old drainage channel," he whispered. "It flows to the Silverbane River. Follow me, stay quiet. And… don't touch the walls. The echoes here are vicious."
They crawled inside. Darkness swallowed them, broken only by Kaelen's small crystal casting a dim blue glow. The sound of dripping water and scurrying creatures filled the air. Beneath it all… silence. A low hiss that wasn't sound but pressure against the temples. Echoes of centuries of waste, pain, and secrets discarded here.
Thalia drew her inner boundaries tight, just as Roland had taught her. You are a vessel. Do not let them in.
They crawled until time lost meaning. Then the channel sloped sharply downward, and the roar of flowing water grew louder. Ahead, moonlight filtered through a large iron grate.
"The river," Kaelen said. He shoved the grate—it was rusted and loose—and it opened with a groan that made them both freeze.
Cold, fresh air hit Thalia's face. They stood on a low bank beside the Silverbane River, its waters shimmering under the moon. Across the river, the darkness of Gloomwald stretched like an endless sea of night. Massive, twisted trees formed a canopy that devoured even moonlight, and from within came strange sounds—chirring insects, animal cries, and… a low hum, almost like singing.
"Home," Kaelen murmured, his tone a mix of longing and dread.
They moved along the riverbank, searching for a shallow crossing. That was when Thalia felt it—a tremor in the air. Not sound, but a disturbance in the echo-web around her. Like ripples in still water.
"Kaelen," she hissed. "Something—"
A sharp whistle cut through the air, followed by the crunch of running footsteps on stone.
From the trees on the Lumenspire side emerged three figures in Chamber of Whispers robes—led by Felwin. His face gleamed with satisfaction in the moonlight.
"Apprentice Thalia! And the Leech!" he shouted. "Halt by order of the Chancellor! You are violating territorial quarantine!"
They were trapped. River behind them, Felwin and two armed arcanists ahead.
"How did he know?" Thalia whispered in despair.
"Not now," Kaelen growled, drawing a dagger. The blade was plain, but his eyes were dangerous. "Thalia, when I give the signal, run for the river. Swim across."
"But—"
"RUN!"
Kaelen shoved her back and lunged forward—not at Felwin, but at one of the arcanists wielding a crystal staff. He moved fast—too fast for an ordinary apprentice. Felwin recoiled in surprise, then raised his hand; the ring on his finger flared.
A wave of echo pressure, visible as rippling air, blasted from the ring toward Kaelen. The Memory Leech snarled, took the hit, staggered—but did not fall. Instead, his eyes flared pale blue, and he hurled the wave back.
The staff-bearing arcanist screamed, clutching his head as if attacked from within.
"Echo Reflection!" Felwin hissed, impressed and furious. "You're stronger than I thought, Leech."
Meanwhile, Thalia rushed to the river's edge. The water was brutally cold, biting to the bone. She turned back, seeing Kaelen now fighting both arcanists, dodging magical attacks with impossible agility. But Felwin leveled his ring at her.
No time to think.
Thalia grabbed the Fading Locket at her chest. She had no weapon, no combat magic. But she had echoes.
She focused everything on the locket—not to listen, but to release. Her mother's echo of love and protection, the pure emotion stored within.
"MY MOTHER DIDN'T WANT THIS!" she screamed, and unleashed it—not as memory, but as a raw emotional blast.
Felwin and the remaining arcanist reeled—not from physical force, but from a sudden flood of longing, love, and loss crashing into their minds. The feeling was so intense, so alien, that it shattered their magical focus for a heartbeat.
Kaelen seized the moment and leapt back. "NOW, THALIA!"
They both turned and plunged into the Silverbane. Freezing water swallowed them as the current seized and dragged them downstream—toward the darkness of Gloomwald.
Felwin's furious shouts faded behind them.
They drifted, clinging to a floating log, fighting the cold. When they finally reached the far bank and crawled out, shivering, they were deep within the shadows of the colossal forest.
From within Gloomwald, the faint singing grew louder. And among the trees, a pair of eyes glowed—not animal eyes, but eyes filled with awareness and ancient echoes—watching them.
Thalia trembled, not from the cold. The Fading Locket was warm against her chest, pulsing as if in time with the forest's song.
They had escaped.
But they had entered a far more dangerous realm.
And somewhere in this darkness, Lieutenant Elias Vance—and the truth of the broken promise—was waiting.