The lantern's flame dimmed, and the room fell into a heavy silence. Armand's heart pounded as the cloaked figure at the head of the table rose, holding the slender dagger that gleamed like liquid silver.
"You will face the Trial of Echoes," the figure intoned. "Only those who can hear the truth hidden in silence may remain."
Grace Johnson's eyes met Armand's, steady and unflinching. "Listen carefully," she whispered.
The figure placed the dagger before him. Its edge shimmered, but it was not the blade that mattered — it was the sound. A faint hum filled the air, rising and falling like a voice trapped within steel.
Armand leaned closer, straining to catch the whisper. At first it was nothing but static, but then… words. Fragmented, broken, yet unmistakable. "Trust no one."
He jerked back, breath caught in his throat. The others watched silently, their knives resting on the table like judges waiting for a verdict.
Grace's voice was low, urgent. "What did you hear?"
Armand hesitated. If he spoke the wrong words, would they cast him out? Or worse? He swallowed hard. "It said… trust no one."
The cloaked figure nodded slowly. "Then you are ready. The whisper has chosen you."
The lantern flared, shadows leaping across the walls. Armand realized the trial was not about courage or strength — it was about listening to what others could not hear. And now, the Circle of Silence had claimed him.