Chapter 120: The Choir of Ash
The halls sang without voice.
No words. No melody. Just a feeling—a pressure behind the ribs, a scraping at the back of the eyes. The silence had weight now, clinging to skin like damp smoke, growing thicker with every step Leon took toward the light.
The ruins around him pulsed faintly, not with magic, but memory. Windows framed scenes from lives long gone: kings dissolving into ash, lovers weeping into the void, cities crumbling without sound. No screams. No music. Just grief played on loop.
Mira walked beside him, blade ready, jaw tight. She hadn’t said anything since they crossed the gate. Couldn’t. The silence swallowed more than noise—it devoured thought. Leon kept one hand over his chest, where both shards throbbed against his heartbeat, guiding him forward, deeper.
Behind them, Tomas trailed close, scanning every shadow. He mouthed something once—probably a curse—but even that was useless here. Kairis remained at the rear, a cold flicker in the dust, her presence barely solid, as if this place remembered *her* differently than the others.
The hall opened suddenly.
A circular chamber.
The source of the glow stood at its centre: a single stone altar, shaped like a child’s cradle.
And in it—something small.
Breathing.
Barely.
Leon took a step forward.