The canal's silence followed us long after we left the bridge behind. Each step I took, I swore I could hear faint sighs beneath the cobblestones, as though water had seeped into the bones of the city and refused to leave. My throat burned raw, and though I wanted to speak, no sound rose cleanly. Every attempt scraped my voice against unseen glass. Silence had splintered me, and now the world itself seemed eager to echo that wound.
Seraphine kept her iron arm raised as we walked, the runes flickering with warning light. Her human hand rested on the strap across her chest, steadying her breath. Though she hid it well, I could see the exhaustion pulling at her shoulders, the weight of fighting a city that demanded debts from every breath we took.
The Ledger pulsed against my ribs, opening without consent:
Phenomenon Persistence: Drowned Choir fragments remain.
Effect: Echoes seek vessel.
Directive: Contain resonance.
I slammed the book shut, but the words lingered in my marrow. Contain resonance. What did that mean? Was I the vessel now? Had my scream carved a hollow in me large enough for the Choir to crawl inside?
Seraphine stopped at a crossroads where the fog pooled thicker, swirling in restless eddies. "Varrow," she said carefully, "you're hearing them, aren't you?"
I hesitated, then rasped, "Yes." My voice came out so hoarse it was hardly more than a hiss.
Her eyes hardened. "Then you need to fight it. If the Choir roots in you, it won't just drown you—it'll drown every word you've ever spoken."
I shuddered. Already my voice felt fractured, my identity blurred by silence. If the Choir fed on that fracture, what would remain of me?
We pressed onward into the Mirewalk, a quarter of the city built half on stilts, half on rotting stone, where canals bled through alleys like veins. Here the fog was thicker, clinging to doorways and creeping through shutters. The air smelled of brine and decay. Lanterns swung faintly, their flames guttering as though sighs brushed against them.
We weren't alone.
Figures huddled in the mist. Not attackers, not yet. Citizens. Their faces were pale, eyes wide with a haunted look. Some clutched their throats as though strangled by invisible hands. Others whispered to themselves, murmurs too faint to catch. But all of them turned as we passed, their gazes locked on me—as if the wound in my voice had marked me.
The Ledger burned. Pages opened of their own accord:
Witnesses infected by resonance.
Symptom: Echo-lungs.
Directive: Break cycle. Options:
Speak truth into silence. Cost: Voice fracture deepens.Burn Candle. Cost: One marrow beat.Spine of Iron. Cost: Pain threshold exceeded.
I staggered, clutching the book tighter. Every option bled cost. Every page was a demand, and I was running out of currency.
Seraphine's eyes scanned the crowd. "They're half-possessed," she murmured. "The Choir's fragments are nesting in them. If you let it grow, the entire quarter will be theirs."
The crowd swayed. Dozens of mouths opened in unison. A collective sigh poured out, low and wet, rattling lanterns and shaking boards beneath our feet. The sound clawed inside me, tearing at the splinters lodged in my throat. My knees buckled. I nearly screamed—but Seraphine's iron grip steadied me.
"Varrow," she hissed. "Decide. Now."
The Ledger's page glared up at me. Burn the candle? My marrow was already brittle. Spine of Iron? I didn't know if my bones could withstand it. Or confess again—tear my throat apart until nothing remained.
I lifted my trembling hand. The candle-mark flickered faintly, a tiny ember begging for fuel. I pressed it against my chest, over the Ledger, and whispered—not words, but a hiss of defiance. The flame leapt.
Light burst outward, pale and searing. The crowd shrieked as the glow burned through their sighs. The fog recoiled, pulling back into alleyways. One by one, the citizens collapsed, coughing, their whispers silenced. Breath returned to them—jagged, but their own.
The Ledger scrawled furiously:
Echo contained. Fragments weakened. Balance partial.
Cost: One marrow beat lost. Integrity diminished.
I swayed, clutching my ribs as though the marrow had been scooped out with a ladle. My legs trembled, barely holding me upright. But the crowd lived. For now, they lived.
Seraphine steadied me again, her expression unreadable. "You can't keep paying like this," she said quietly. "Piece by piece, you're giving yourself away. One day there'll be nothing left but ash and ink."
I tried to answer, but my voice cracked, splintered, and broke into silence. Only the Ledger spoke for me, its faint hum echoing in my chest like a second, alien heartbeat.
And through the thinning fog, I swore I heard it again—the faint sigh of the Choir, lingering still. Waiting for me to breathe wrong. Waiting for me to fall silent forever.
—End of Chapter 22—