Chapter 20 – Echoes of the Choir
The night passed in fragments.
Lucien did not sleep so much as he drifted in and out of broken dreams, his mind a battlefield as restless as the swamp outside. Each time his eyes closed, crimson flames licked at the edges of his vision, and the hymn's verses bled through the darkness. Sing with me. Bleed with me. You are mine.
When he startled awake, gasping, the ruined outpost was cold and silent. The mist curled through the gaps in the stone like fingers probing for weakness. Liora lay on the other side of the fire, her head resting against her pack, her sword within arm's reach. Even in sleep, her brow was furrowed.
Lucien envied her steadiness.
Requiem leaned against the wall beside him, its faint glow pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. No matter how far he tried to place it, he could still feel it tugging on him, like a chain fastened to his ribs. The hunger had quieted since the battle, but it had not left. It never left.
You think she trusts you, the voice murmured in the back of his mind, low and mocking. But she watched you slaughter. She saw what you are. Do you think she'll still be here when she realizes the truth?
Lucien squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the thought away. He wanted silence, but silence never lasted long.
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At dawn, the marsh came alive with a low, rolling sound that made both of them stiffen. It wasn't the call of beasts, nor the crackle of swampfire. It was a chant.
Lucien rose to his feet, his body stiff and sore, hand instantly reaching for Requiem. Liora was already awake, blade drawn, her eyes narrowing as the sound grew louder.
The chant was distant, but it carried through the mist like the toll of a bell. A dozen voices, maybe more, layered atop one another in harsh, rhythmic syllables that scraped against Lucien's skull. He didn't need to understand the words to know what they were.
"The Choir," he muttered.
Liora's face hardened. "They're close."
The sound swelled, reverberating through the stones beneath their feet. The ruined outpost seemed to tremble with it, dust trickling down from fractured walls. The hymn within Requiem stirred in response, its whisper turning eager, almost joyous. They call to us. Do you hear them, Lucien? The hymn sings through their throats. We are not alone.
Lucien's grip tightened on the hilt until his knuckles went white. "What do they want? Why chase us?"
Liora's answer was immediate, grim. "Not us. You. That sword."
The chanting grew clearer, voices splitting into verses that rose and fell like a tide. For a moment, Lucien thought he could hear his own name woven into the rhythm, but when he strained to listen closer, the sound warped, bending until it felt as though the marsh itself was singing.
He staggered back, clutching his head. The voice inside him laughed.
"Lucien!" Liora grabbed his arm, pulling him back to focus. Her eyes searched his, steady but sharp. "Stay with me."
He forced a breath, nodding. The hymn's echoes still clawed at his mind, but Liora's voice anchored him just enough to keep from tipping over the edge.
Then the chanting stopped.
Silence swept the swamp again, thicker and heavier than before. Even the crows had fled.
And from the mist beyond the outpost's crumbling arch, figures emerged.
They were not hunters this time. These were robed, their garments soaked black at the hems from the swamp's filth, their faces hidden behind veils marked with red symbols that shifted unnaturally, as though alive. They moved in unison, their steps eerily silent despite the mud.
At their center walked a taller figure, draped in crimson robes, a staff of bone in one hand. Where the others' veils hid their faces, this one wore no covering at all. Instead, his skin was pale as wax, his eyes entirely black, his lips cracked and red from constant chanting. When he smiled, Lucien's stomach turned.
Liora's blade came up instantly. "Choir priest," she hissed.
The man's voice carried with unnatural clarity, as if the air itself bent to his will. "Child of the hymn," he said, his black eyes fixed on Lucien. "You wield what should never have been yours. Yet here you stand, alive, bound to it, breaking its verses as though you were chosen."
Lucien's teeth clenched. "And what are you? Another fool who thinks he can chain me?"
The priest chuckled, though there was no warmth in it. "Chain you? No, Lucien Vale. We would welcome you. You are a vessel, a singer. You need only abandon resistance, and the hymn will make you whole. You need not crawl. You can ascend."
Requiem pulsed wildly at the words, the crimson glow flickering like fire about to catch. The voice inside him hissed with delight. Yes. He speaks truth. They see you for what you are. Stop fighting me, Lucien. This is what you were made for.
Lucien's hand trembled on the hilt. A part of him wanted to scream, to tell the priest to rot. But another part—a darker, quieter part—leaned toward the promise. To be whole. To be free of the struggle.
Liora stepped in front of him, her sword raised, her voice sharp as steel. "He isn't yours. And he never will be."
The priest's smile widened, too thin, too sharp. "We shall see." He raised the staff, and the robed figures began to chant again, their voices weaving together into a single, dreadful harmony. The air thickened, pressing against Lucien's chest, and the mist coiled tighter around them like a living thing.
Requiem vibrated in his grip, desperate to be unleashed. The hymn within him roared, eager to answer the call.
Lucien's pulse thundered. He stood at the edge of choice once more—fight the Choir on his own terms, or let Requiem take him further than he'd ever dared.
And for the first time, he wasn't sure which path would damn him faster.
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✨ End of Chapter 20