"Even silence remembers.
And in the deepest dust...
The Voice still echoes."
---
The doors did not open.
They shivered.
Blackened stone, etched with runes no mortal tongue could read, trembled beneath Aralyndra's touch. Ash bled from the carvings. Smoke curled from the hinges.
> "This place was buried after the Last Vow War," Karna whispered.
"No one was meant to find it again."
Aralyndra didn't speak.
Not because she was afraid.
But because the temple was listening.
The mountain's breath shifted.
Somewhere deep inside, something groaned.
Not like a door.
Like a memory waking.
---
The entrance cracked open.
Heat spilled out—dry, ancient, not from fire, but from time itself.
They stepped inside.
The stone walls pulsed faintly. Gold veins shimmered beneath layers of soot.
Painted figures lined the walls—tall, regal, faceless. Each held a crown in one hand, and a blade in the other.
Between them: a woman drawn in silver and blue. No eyes. No mouth. Only flame where her voice should be.
Aralyndra stopped.
> "That's me," she said. Not a question.
Karna nodded.
"She was you. Before you chose silence. Before the gods chained your name."
---
As they walked deeper, a cold wind passed them—though there were no openings, no breath but their own.
The walls narrowed.
The runes thickened.
The air shimmered with tension.
And then, they reached the Vowcradle.
A chamber at the heart of the mountain.
Built not of stone—but of names.
The walls were alive with whispering voices.
They weren't speaking language—they were singing fragments of broken vows.
Some of them in Aralyndra's voice.
Some in Karna's.
And some in a voice Aralyndra didn't recognize at all—
> But which made her heart ache like she'd been stabbed by a forgotten love.
---
> "What is this place?" she whispered.
> "This is where the Voice was born," Karna said.
"Where you made your first vow. And where the world changed to obey it."
---
In the center of the room was an altar made of obsidian and bone.
Above it, floating in silence, hung a single glowing stone—
The Vowshard.
Shaped like a heart.
Beating faintly.
Cracked.
Aralyndra stepped forward.
And suddenly—
> She wasn't in the mountain anymore.
---
She stood on a battlefield.
Burning skies. Screaming stars.
Gods bleeding gold. Dragons falling.
And in the center—herself, standing atop a spire of flame, voice shaking the sky itself.
> "I AM ARALYNDRA.
I AM ASTRAEVA.
I AM THE FIRST VOICE—
AND I DO NOT FORGIVE."
She saw Karna there too.
Kneeling. Smiling.
Bleeding from his chest—where a sword made of light had struck him.
And yet, even dying… he whispered:
> "I found you."
---
She gasped—and returned.
Back in the temple.
Karna had caught her in his arms.
> "What did you see?" he asked.
She looked at the Vowshard.
Her voice shook.
> "The war. The thrones. The moment I broke the heavens."
> "Good," Karna said. "You're remembering faster this time."
---
Behind them, the walls began to quake.
The mountain was waking.
The vowfires stirred.
And in the distance—drums began to beat.
Not from the gods.
But from the mortals who had waited for her return.
> The Vowborn Rebellion.
---
Meanwhile, in the sanctums of the east…
The Pale Matron stood before a mirrored pool of memory.
Around her: masked priests, chained scribes, and the Three Heads of Heaven themselves—gods who had not walked the earth in five centuries.
> "She's awakened the Vowshard," whispered one.
> "The war will begin again," hissed another.
> "Good," the Pale Matron smiled.
"Let the traitor queen find her voice.
And let her sing the world to ruin."
---
Back beneath the mountain…
The Vowshard pulsed.
And Aralyndra whispered to it:
> "I'm ready to speak again."