The bells tolled hollow in the gray morning. Their voices carried too long, clinging to the air as though the stone itself was reluctant to release the sound.
Students stirred, dressing, whispering, but the whispers carried a different tone now. They were not about petty rivalries, or even the nobles' recent gambit. They were about what had been seen.
Ernest Aldery had spoken, and a noble heir had fallen.
No beast. No cursed relic. No illusory shadow. A boy of high blood had been bent by a single word.
The Academy held its breath.
Beneath the chapel, stone stairs wound downward into earth older than the Academy itself. Few ever descended here, save those in white robes. The air grew colder with each step, until the walls themselves seemed to hum faintly with silence.
At the base lay a chamber.
Iron bowls burned with thick, choking incense. Chains hung from the walls in heavy coils, their links blackened, their shapes etched with faded runes. They were not binding anything now, but they waited, patient as predators in the dark.
The priests gathered in a circle. Their robes glowed white against the gloom, their pale faces lit by the flickering candlelight. Their voices rose in low hums, steady, rhythmic, like a heartbeat too slow to belong to man.
The old one with lashes white as frost lifted his head. His pale eyes gleamed faintly, reflecting the flames.
"He has shown himself," he whispered. "No beast. No relic. No mirror. Flesh of noble blood bent to his command. There is no longer denial."
Whispers rippled through the circle.
"A vessel.""A prophet.""A heretic."
"Which?"
The old one's smile curved thin, lashes lowering and lifting. "It does not matter. He bends what should not bend. That is blasphemy enough."
A younger priest, face taut with zeal, spoke sharply. "Then he must be destroyed. Before he roots deeper. Before his silence spreads."
Another hissed, voice low. "Destroyed? Heir of Aldery blood? Do you think his family would permit it? The Academy would burn. The high houses would tear us limb from limb."
"Then expose him. Force his hand until there is no doubt. Make his silence shout so that all see what he is."
The old priest's lashes fluttered faintly. "He will expose himself again. He cannot resist. Pride and curse circle him. The Stag bends. The Gold burns. He will save them again, and when he does, the gods will chain him through us."
The hum deepened. Their whispers filled the chamber, low and steady.
One priest struck flint to iron, sparks leaping into incense. Smoke coiled higher, twisting like pale chains in the air. Another poured oil over blackened links. The chamber throbbed with rhythm as their voices rose, weaving words of binding.
"Chains unseen.Chains eternal.What bends will break.What commands will kneel."
The old one raised both hands. "The Voice speaks. It bends. But chains wait. Chains hunger. Chains bind even gods."
The priests' voices joined, a steady chant. The chains on the walls trembled faintly, their links rattling without wind.
In the smoke, images flickered — a stag with broken horns, a girl aflame with cursed beauty, a stone cracked in two, a pale boy with black eyes and lips that moved without sound.
The old one's pale lashes lowered. His voice was almost a whisper. "We will use their cracks. The Stag's pride. The Gold's curse. The Rane's steadiness. We will twist each until he cannot remain silent. When he speaks, we will bind him. And when he kneels, the gods will see."
Above, the instructors gathered again in the faculty chamber. Candles burned in iron holders, their flames wavering faintly though no wind stirred.
Halvern's spectacles glinted. "They are quiet," he muttered. "Too quiet. After what was seen, their silence is more dangerous than their words."
Serren struck his staff against stone. "They will move soon. Another trial. Worse than before."
Elenor's voice was measured, but her eyes were hard. "And what would you have us do? Stand against them? You know what that means."
Serren's jaw tightened. "Then at least stand for the children. They are heirs, not sacrifices."
"Children?" Elenor scoffed. "They are pawns. Pawns sharpen kings. If they break, then they were meant to break."
Halvern's voice cracked sharp. "Enough. We cannot oppose openly. But we can watch. And if the priests reach too far, if they destroy more than they shape—" His voice faltered. "Then history will remember our silence as betrayal."
No one spoke. The flames flickered. The silence pressed heavier than words.
In the dining hall, whispers ran sharper than ever.
"He commanded him.""The priests saw.""They will not allow it to stand."
Some voices carried awe. Others dripped fear. A few hissed envy. But every voice named Aldery.
Rowan burned beneath it all. His pride screamed, but shame gnawed louder. Mikel chewed steadily, but his calm eyes flicked sharper, more aware. Celina sat apart, her emerald eyes cold, her cursed wrist trembling faintly.
And Ernest… Ernest ate in silence, his black eyes calm, merciless. He gave nothing, but he heard everything.
That night, Ernest sat at his desk. The lamp burned low, his quill scratching against paper.
Priests saw. No longer denial. They call me prophet, vessel, heretic. It does not matter. They hunger.
They plan through cracks. Rowan's pride. Celina's curse. Mikel's steadiness. They will twist each.
Another trial will come. Not beasts. Not illusions. Trap disguised as test.
Instructors uneasy. They whisper of silence as betrayal. Useful. Dangerous.
He closed the book, stood at the window.
The courtyard lay pale in moonlight. The chalk circle glowed faint beneath frost. Across the green, Celina's candle burned steady. Rowan's lamp flickered faint. Mikel's light constant.
His reflection stared back — pale, calm, merciless.
"The forest bent. The nobles bowed. The beast knelt. The chain obeyed. The mirrors cracked. The heirs knelt. Now the priests hunger."
His lips curved, thin, sharp.
"Let them. Their chains will bend too. I am the Voice that commands — even in silence."