Finding the entrance? Total nightmare. It's tucked under this creepy lake that doesn't even bother with ripples. Not a single one. The whole thing just sits there, smug and flat, like it's daring you to look closer.
Maelin's standing at the edge, staring down. The water's supposed to reflect the sky and trees, right? Nope. Only thing looking back at her: stars. But not the ones you'd recognize—these are all warped and ancient, constellations that maybe shouldn't even exist. It's like gazing into a puddle of midnight that forgot how to be day.
Kaelen's next to her, all broody cloak and nerves.
"Don't talk when you go in," he says, low. "This place eats sound. Even the wind keeps out. It's not just quiet—it's like something's paying attention, waiting to see if you mess up."
Maelin's voice is barely there. "And the Choir member?"
His eyes drop. "They called her Liora, Weaver of Echoes. She could connect worlds with her voice. When the silence came… she couldn't handle it. Got lost in her own head. Drowned, but not the normal way."
And that's it. No pep talks. They just step into the lake.
It's weird—like falling through a held breath. Not cold, not wet, just… weightless. Maelin drifts down, wrapped in this endless shadow, until—bam—her boots hit freezing stone.
And suddenly, she's in this massive cavern, walls glimmering like somebody lined them with shattered mirrors. The kind of quiet that makes your own heartbeat sound like thunder. Every move, every tiny scuff of her boot, every time the obsidian shard from Tharos clinks against her pouch—she hears it all, loud as fireworks.
Kaelen? Gone. Poof. Just Maelin now.
Then—something. Not a sound. Not a voice. More like a thought that elbows into her brain.
"Why do you come, singer of stars?"
She spins, every hair prickling. In the crystal walls, a woman's face shimmers back at her—silver hair, eyes like empty wells, floating just out of reach. Doesn't look angry. Just tired. So tired it hurts to see.
"The world above is all noise. I picked quiet. I'm not coming back."
Maelin presses her hand to a nearby crystal. It vibrates just a little, same strange note she felt back in Ash'raen.
She fishes out the obsidian shard. It throbs, almost eager—like it remembers what it's for.
She draws a line on the crystal, tracing Liora's old name, not even sure why. Instead of talking, she lets the music rise in her mind—a memory more than a song, gentle and impossible, like wind skimming water.
The silence? It fractures. You can almost hear it break.
Light bursts from the crystals, flaring so bright Maelin blinks tears.
And Liora—she gasps. A sound, finally. First one in centuries.
Falls to her knees, her reflection crying for her.
The silence is done for.