The Sleeper's Rumor
Part II — The Puppets Stir
The mortals whispered, prayed, and cursed, but far beyond their voices, the Puppets woke.
They had been still in their sanctuaries while the Eruption raged. Yet now, with the suns dimmed and the fractures steadied, something stirred them — not Kay's strings, not mortal faith, but a silence that hummed louder than hymns.
---
Orrin — The Choral Fortress
The Choral Fortress shook as Orrin's voice rose. No longer the half-slumbered muttering of a god left drifting, but a full-throated song that filled every corridor of stone. Priests who had fallen from exhaustion lifted their heads again, their throats torn yet still joining him. The hymn was not of dawn or dusk, not of fracture or fusion. It was of stillness.
Orrin's eyes, fire-burnt silver, narrowed. He felt it in the air: a note that did not come from him, yet to which even he must answer. His fortress had leaned toward that silence, its towers trembling in reverence.
"This hymn is not mine," Orrin murmured between verses. "It is written elsewhere. Beyond Kay. Beyond me."
The priests did not understand, but they shivered at his tone. They sang on, voices frayed but defiant, as though afraid of what would come if they stopped.
---
Vel — The Hidden Waters
In the caverns beneath Zash'A's rivers, Vel shifted. She had slumbered for decades, her eyes closed to mortal prayers. But now her lids flickered. She felt fractures easing, waters running smoother, currents no longer tearing themselves apart. And she knew with dread that it was not her doing.
She rose halfway, hair of black streams dripping across her shoulders, eyes sharp as obsidian mirrors. The mortals had not sung her awake. Kay had not tugged her strings. Something else had steadied the currents.
Vel clenched her fists. "Who dares write calm in my waters?"
The river echoed back in silence.
---
Eira — The Frosted Peaks
Far north, in mountains where even storms feared to linger, Eira exhaled. The breath of her sleep spread frost across valleys, freezing trees into white bones. She had long been content to slumber, letting mortals sacrifice on her shrines without care. But now she stirred, eyes opening to blizzards that bent strangely, circling around an unseen center far south.
The world's cold was no longer hers alone.
"Another sleeps," she whispered, voice crystalline. "And the world guards her sleep as it guards mine."
Jealousy, faint but sharp, pricked her heart. Eira's ice had frozen countless centuries, yet none bowed so willingly as the suns now bowed to a stranger.
---
Ra — The Furnace
In the deserts of An'Qlox, Ra burned. Flames danced higher, brighter, consuming altars left in his name. Mortals wailed in awe, throwing themselves into the fire to prove devotion. But Ra ignored them. His eyes blazed not toward their prayers, but toward the heavens.
Though the suns were not his — yet they bent. Dimmed. Obeyed something other than him.
His flames lashed hotter, as though to challenge them. But no matter how high he roared, the suns did not answer. They bowed still to the unseen Sleeper.
And for the first time in ages, Ra felt his fire's pride falter.
---
Puppets' Unease
Each Puppet stirred in their domain, each feeling the same disquiet. The fractures had slowed. The chaos had gentled. Not by their hand. Not by Kay's decree.
Something else had entered the weave.
They whispered in their sanctuaries, words carried across rivers, peaks, and flames.
Orrin: "There is a hymn unsung by gods."
Vel: "A river flows that I did not shape."
Eira: "The frost guards not me, but another."
Ra: "Two suns bow to no flame of mine."
Kael alone did not whisper. He shouted his rage to the streets, engines blazing, yet his voice too carried to the others. And they understood: all of them had been dethroned at once.
---
Kay's Strings Slackened
For as long as they had existed, the Puppets felt Kay's pull — the faint weight of a hand that lifted or dropped them like dice. But now, the strings slackened. Not cut, but resisted. The world itself tugged them back when Kay reached too far.
They realized it together, in a moment of shared dread.
The Gambler no longer held full command.
---
Reflection
The mortals did not know the Puppets stirred. They only felt tremors, saw floods grow gentler, blizzards shift, fires blaze hotter, choirs tremble. But the Puppets knew. They had not chosen this balance. Nor had Kay.
Something else slept, and the world guarded her more fiercely than it had ever guarded them.
Orrin's hymn faltered. Vel clenched her fists in dark waters. Eira's frost sharpened. Ra's flames roared higher. Kael screamed louder.
And across them all spread one truth: for the first time since their creation, the Puppets feared they were no longer the highest voices in the world.