The descent into the Choir was unlike any journey Jun Mo Xie had ever taken. Each step downward resonated with vibrations that echoed not in his ears, but in the deepest parts of his mind. The staircase was made not of stone or ice, but of harmonics—woven melodies suspended in the cold, singing softly as they walked.
Calisynth led the way, her footsteps silent, yet each movement caused the air to shimmer with music. Behind her, Jun Mo Xie followed, and behind him came Mei Yun, Yue Ling, Fei Yan, and Lan Xue. None spoke. To speak was to disrupt the song.
They passed archways carved from translucent ice, each inscribed with ancient runes that pulsed in time with a rhythm Jun Mo Xie felt in his chest. In each hollow, frozen images shimmered like trapped memories—figures locked in various expressions: rage, sorrow, fear, serenity.
"What is this place?" Yue Ling whispered, though even her breath threatened to disturb the harmony.
Calisynth's voice rang out in perfect counterpoint. "This is the first vault of the Frozen Choir. Where sound is memory. Where silence is sacrifice."
Lan Xue stepped close to one frozen image—a young child cradled in arms of ice. "Are they alive?"
Calisynth shook her head. "No. They are echoes—souls whose memories were too loud to fade."
Jun Mo Xie's eyes narrowed. "And you preserved them?"
"They preserved themselves," she replied. "We only gave them stillness."
---
Hours passed. Or seconds. Time bent strangely in the Choir. The Ember within Jun Mo Xie grew restless, flaring with heat when they passed near certain corridors. The Choir pulsed with layered melodies—some ancient, others recent. Some malevolent.
Eventually, they reached a circular chamber. It was vast and hollow, its domed ceiling shimmering like crystal glass. At its center floated a frozen sphere suspended in midair—inside it, a heart of darkness pulsed, each throb echoing like a deep gong.
Calisynth gestured. "The Echo. The oldest remnant of the Beyond's scream. Locked here for eons."
Mei Yun narrowed her eyes. "And now it's waking up."
"Yes," Calisynth said. "It dreams now. And when it dreams, it sings. The world above will not withstand its chorus."
Jun Mo Xie stepped forward, feeling the Ember heat up like wildfire in his chest. "What do I need to do?"
"You must harmonize with it. Weave a counter-song strong enough to lull it back into slumber. Not silence it—that is impossible—but to tame its pitch."
Fei Yan scoffed. "You expect him to sing a lullaby to a god?"
"No," Calisynth replied. "I expect him to become the harmony itself."
---
The ritual began.
Jun Mo Xie stood beneath the floating sphere as Calisynth conjured a circle of glyphs around him. Ancient symphonies filled the chamber, each note etched in light. The four women formed corners of a star, amplifying their elemental affinities: storm, blade, ice, and shadow.
"Let him hear," Calisynth intoned. "Let him become."
The Echo pulsed once. Then twice. Then it shrieked.
A wave of sound erupted. The chamber warped. Ice cracked. Visions spilled into the space—fragmented futures, shattered memories, realities that never existed. Jun Mo Xie staggered as time folded in on itself. He saw himself as a child, as an old man, as a king with burning eyes. Then as ash.
Mei Yun channeled a bolt of stormlight to steady him. "Mo Xie, focus!"
He grasped the Ember and let its fire flow into his veins. Then he began to speak. No, not speak—hum. A low, wordless tune. One note, pure and deep.
The Echo shuddered.
He added another note. Then another. A progression of harmony drawn not from memory, but from instinct. From the very core of his being.
The Frozen Choir responded. Runes lit. Pillars vibrated. The faces trapped in the walls wept frozen tears.
Fei Yan crouched as a wave of temporal dissonance tore through the chamber. Her blade flickered in and out of time. "It's pushing back!"
Lan Xue stepped forward. "Then we push harder!" She extended her palm, sending a ripple of stabilizing energy into the glyphs.
Yue Ling took up a stance beside Jun Mo Xie, grounding the pattern. "He needs more support."
"Then give it!" Mei Yun cried.
---
The ritual reached its crescendo.
Jun Mo Xie's body lifted into the air, cloaked in fire and sound. The Ember spun above his heart, radiating notes that shimmered like stardust. Calisynth raised both arms, her voice joining his melody—a harmony so ancient and sorrowful it made even Fei Yan's eyes sting.
Suddenly, the Echo began to weep.
Yes—weeping. The sphere cracked slightly, and inside, a single note escaped—a child's cry. Lost. Alone. Frightened.
Jun Mo Xie's song shifted. It softened. A lullaby, not of dominance, but of compassion. He wove warmth into ice, fire into stillness.
The group added their voices. Not in perfect harmony, but in honest emotion. Lan Xue's hum was gentle and resolute. Mei Yun's storm crackled like a mother's heartbeat. Yue Ling's blade whispered in rhythm, a protector's oath. Even Fei Yan, silent for most of her life, sang a single note—one pure echo of defiance and hope.
And then… silence.
The Echo dimmed.
The chamber calmed.
The runes fell quiet.
Jun Mo Xie collapsed, caught by Yue Ling and Lan Xue. The sphere still floated—but no longer pulsed.
"It's asleep," Calisynth said.
"For how long?" Mei Yun asked.
"A year. A century. A breath. We've bought time."
Fei Yan walked to Jun Mo Xie. "What did you see in it?"
He opened his eyes slowly. "Myself. All of me. And none of me. The Echo doesn't lie. It remembers what we wish we didn't."
Lan Xue whispered, "And now?"
He stood with effort. "Now we prepare. Because next time, it won't just sing. It will scream."
---
As they ascended from the depths, the Choir behind them quiet once more, Jun Mo Xie looked back only once. The frozen faces watched him. But now… one was missing.
His own.
He didn't say anything. But the others noticed too. Mei Yun looked to the blank space on the wall and frowned. Yue Ling's grip on her sword tightened. Fei Yan raised an eyebrow, though said nothing. Lan Xue simply whispered, "It begins."
They emerged into the cold morning. Snow was falling again. But this time, the flakes carried faint whispers—snippets of sound that didn't belong.
Children laughing. A bell tolling backward. A mother's lullaby sung in reverse.
Jun Mo Xie didn't need Cali
synth to explain it. He already knew.
The Echo had listened.
And it had begun to sing back.
---
*To be continued...*