The Library of Silence was a tomb of forgotten knowledge— A cathedral of stillness built on agony.
Books lined its towering shelves, bound in human skin, their pages pale and empty. But they hummed. Each tome pulsed faintly with a trapped soul— Their emotions locked away, muffled, caged in parchment.
A world without pain. A world without joy.
Eredan-Mir's dream. A nightmare dressed in order.
Caelen stepped inside, and the silence crushed him.
Even the curse seemed muted, as if it feared this place. But the souls in the books called to him—softly, desperately.
"Thousands," Elira whispered, her voice barely audible. Her eyes wide with horror. "How do we save them?"
He didn't know. But the Weeping Blade glowed in his hand—its light defiant, almost angry.
"I'll take their pain," he said. "Every last piece."
Elira opened her mouth to object— But stopped.
She knew better than anyone what that meant.
Caelen stepped forward. Laid his hand on the nearest tome.
And opened the gate.
The curse surged—
A tidal wave of grief, love, rage, hope— Centuries of sealed hearts flooding into him.
He staggered.
But he held on.
One by one, the books dissolved— Their bindings crumbling— Their souls rising.
Whispers of thanks brushed his mind like feathers.
Each one soothed a wound even as a hundred more tore open.
His body trembled. His breath turned shallow. His vision blurred.
Still, he did not stop.
Elira ran to him, caught him as he dropped to his knees.
"Caelen, stop! You'll kill yourself!"
His smile was faint. Pain-wracked.
"Better me than them," he whispered.
She pressed her forehead to his. Her tears streaked his cheek.
"You're a fool," she said, her voice breaking.
"But you're my fool."
The library was no longer silent.
It breathed now.
The hum of freed souls rose like a song.
Caelen's strength was fading— But his resolve had never burned brighter.
The final battle waited.
And he would face it. Even if it cost him everything.