The forest breathes differently from the village.
Here, the silence feels older — not imposed, but grown. Every branch, every leaf, every stone hums with it, like the trees themselves learned to swallow their voices long ago. When I step between them, the air shifts. It's thicker, heavier, almost liquid.
Each footfall is too loud, though it makes no sound.
I keep walking. The sky above is still that same dull gray, though I can't tell if it's dawn or dusk. The world here doesn't care about time. It only cares about quiet.
Then, faintly, I hear it.
A sound.
A real one.
It's not loud — more like the ghost of a whisper, threading through the trees. My body goes rigid. Every instinct warns me to stay still. In this world, sound means danger. But curiosity wins.
I follow it.
Through the fog, I see figures — five of them, gathered around a flickering blue flame no larger than a candle. The flame makes no noise. But the people do. Their voices are rough, trembling, desperate.
They're speaking.
Actually speaking.
"…too many taken," one man says. His words stutter, as though the air itself resists them. "If we stay hidden, we die quiet. If we speak, we die loud. Either way—"
He never finishes.
A cracking sound, sharp and final, splits the stillness. His body goes rigid mid-sentence. His eyes widen in horror. Then, slowly, his skin grays over — veins hardening, flesh turning to stone.
The others scatter, choking on half-formed words. One woman covers her mouth too late. She freezes in place, her last sound trapped between her teeth.
Within seconds, the clearing is filled with statues.
I can't move. My breath catches halfway up my throat, as though the world itself is warning me: Don't even think about it.
But the flame — that impossible blue light — flickers once more before fading completely. And for a heartbeat, I swear I hear something hidden beneath the silence. Not a voice. A pulse.
It sounds like my own.
Then a hand grabs my shoulder.
I spin around, ready to fight, but the person behind me pulls me down instead. Their face is half-covered by a mask made of bark, their eyes sharp and burning through the gloom.
"Are you insane?" they hiss — but it's not sound. It's vibration. The words brush directly against my thoughts, forming in my head like echoes without air. "Do you want to die?"
I don't answer. I don't even breathe.
They motion for me to follow, and before I can think, I'm running — through roots and shadows, branches clawing at my clothes. Behind us, I hear nothing. That's what terrifies me most.
The silence doesn't chase. It waits.
After what feels like hours, we reach a hollow beneath an enormous tree. The trunk is split open, revealing a space large enough to crawl inside. Dozens of faint lights glow within — reflections on eyes watching me from the dark.
People. Dozens of them. Hiding.
The masked one gestures for me to sit. Around us, the air hums faintly, vibrating with barely-contained words. When I speak, my voice cracks from disuse.
"What… was that?"
They flinch at the sound. Even here, my voice feels like blasphemy.
One of them — a woman with pale hair and hollow cheeks — leans forward. "The Silence," she murmurs. "The law of this world. Speak above a whisper, and it hears. It doesn't forgive."
Her eyes glint. "You shouldn't be alive."
I almost laugh. "Story of my life."
The masked one crouches in front of me. "No. You don't understand. We saw what happened in the village. The Silence reacted to you… differently."
"I didn't mean to—"
"You can mean to," they cut in. "If you learn how."
The others murmur — not aloud, but through gestures, vibrations that my mind somehow translates into meaning. It's not telepathy. It's something else, older, like communication through resonance.
I press a hand to my chest. That second heartbeat is stronger now, steady and patient.
"Who are you?" I ask.
"We're the ones who still remember sound," the woman says softly. "The ones who refuse to let it die."
Her gaze sharpens. "And you — whatever you are — you just made the Silence bleed."
The words hang there. Heavy. True.
I want to deny it, to say I'm just as powerless as they are. But deep down, I know she's right. I felt it. When I shouted. When the faceless creature turned to dust. When the silence faltered for the first time since I arrived.
The masked man stands. "You should rest. If it's found you, it'll come again."
I nod. My body's trembling, but not from fear this time. From something else — anticipation, maybe. Or hunger.
As I settle into a corner of the hollow, surrounded by people who whisper with their minds instead of their mouths, I realize how strange it feels to belong even a little.
Still, I can't shake the thought: this world isn't just about silence. It's about control. Someone — or something — made it this way.
And if the Silence can turn people to stone for speaking…
…what happens when I start to speak back?