Chapter 3 — The Sound of the Deep
The night wind carried a faint chill through the Crimsonwood Forest. The air still trembled faintly around Aren Vale, rippling in waves that only he could feel. Though his eyes were now useless, the darkness around him was alive — every rustle, every pulse, every breath etched into his mind like an invisible map.
He heard his father before he saw him — not by sight, but by the steady rhythm of a heartbeat that resonated with quiet strength.
Darius Vale stepped closer, the faint glow of his Ghast-touched eyes cutting through the gloom. He studied his son in silence for a long moment. The blue glow radiating faintly from Aren's blind eyes was both mesmerizing and unsettling — calm, but unnatural.
Finally, Darius spoke.
"So… the Warden," he said softly. "I thought those were just stories — relics from the Age of Silence."
Aren's head tilted slightly. He could feel every vibration in his father's voice — the heaviness beneath his calm tone. "You've heard of it?"
Darius nodded slowly. "Legends say the Evokers didn't create the Wardens. They discovered them. Beings of the Deep who could hear the world's soul when everyone else heard only noise. They were guardians of silence — until they were driven mad by it."
He looked Aren over again, concern flashing behind his eyes. "And now, one of their cores is in you."
Aren clenched his fists. "I didn't mean for it to happen. I touched that Pillager's stone, and then… everything went black. I heard something calling to me."
"The Deep?"
He nodded. "It said I had no sound of my own — that it would give me one."
Darius exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. "You shouldn't even be standing, Aren. No human body should be able to contain a Warden core, let alone a legendary one."
Aren managed a small smirk. "Maybe the System made a mistake."
"Or maybe it finally stopped ignoring you," Darius muttered.
⸻
They stood in silence for a moment, the forest whispering around them. Then Darius's tone shifted — cautious, but curious.
"Can you still… use your abilities? That hearing you mentioned?"
Aren hesitated. "I think so. It's like… I can't see light anymore, but everything that moves or makes sound — I can feel it. Like ripples in water."
Darius folded his arms. "Show me."
Aren nodded and took a slow breath. The air around him trembled as his body adapted to the hum of the night. He focused — the faint vibration of insects, the distant ripple of water, his father's breathing — all of it built a map inside his mind.
"Sonar Sense," he whispered.
The world unfolded in pulses of sound. A ring of blue energy rippled out from his feet, invisible to normal eyes but sharp in his mind. Trees appeared as tall pillars of stillness, their outlines traced by echo. He could sense every contour, every rustle of leaves.
When he turned toward Darius, the older man's figure shimmered in that echo map — dense, steady, like a stone in a river.
"Everything sings," Aren said quietly. "Even the air."
Darius's brows lifted slightly. "That's… incredible."
Aren smiled faintly, pride mixing with disbelief. "There's more." He clenched his fist, channeling energy that thrummed in his bones. "Sound Pulse."
He released it — a focused blast of vibration that rippled through the air. It struck a fallen tree, splitting it cleanly down the center with a deep boom. Leaves scattered, and the ground trembled.
Darius whistled low. "Remind me not to make you angry."
Aren winced and rubbed his temple. "It's… loud inside my head when I do that. Like the world's shouting back."
"That's the price of power," Darius said. "The stronger the gift, the heavier the echo."
He studied his son again — the faint blue light glowing from his eyes, the tension in his jaw. "You said you're blind now?"
Aren nodded slowly. "Completely. But I don't think I need sight anymore. I can feel more now than I ever did before."
His father's face softened. "Then maybe the Deep didn't curse you, Aren. Maybe it just gave you new eyes."
Aren's lips twitched into a small, grateful smile. "That's… one way to put it."
⸻
"Come on," Darius said after a moment. "We should head back before the night hunters start moving. You can tell me more on the way."
Aren nodded. He fell into step beside his father, his senses painting a world of invisible rhythm — footsteps crunching on dirt, water dripping from leaves, the distant croak of night frogs by the lakeshore.
The forest path wound down toward a soft, silver glow. As they broke through the last line of trees, the view opened before them — and even in his blindness, Aren could feel the enormity of it.
The Village of Cinderhollow lay in the center of a vast lake, surrounded by shimmering waters that mirrored the moon like a sea of glass. Wooden walkways connected stone platforms across the surface, glowing softly with embedded mana lanterns.
A single land bridge stretched from the forest to the island village — wide enough for two carts to pass, built from reinforced obsidian brick and guarded by towering Iron Golems. Their eyes glowed amber in the dark as they patrolled, every footstep a heavy, echoing thud that Aren could feel through the water beneath his feet.
The outer wall of Cinderhollow rose high and circular, carved from dark basalt and silverwood, forming a nearly impenetrable barrier. Beyond it, the faint hum of enchantments wove through the air — the protective wards that kept the wild beasts from crossing the lake.
As they crossed the bridge, Aren tilted his head slightly, listening. He could hear the rhythmic patrol of the golems circling the wall, the soft churn of water against stone, and the muffled laughter of villagers in the distance.
Inside the walls, the streets were alive even under the moon. Blacksmiths worked their forges under lanternlight, steam and sparks rising into the night. Children chased each other past market stalls where fresh fish glistened on racks, their voices ringing with the energy of youth.
And through it all, Iron Golems walked among the people — silent, dutiful guardians of iron and will. Their heavy steps resonated like drums in Aren's ears, each beat clear and grounding.
"It's louder now," Aren murmured.
Darius glanced down at him. "Too much?"
"No… just different. Before, I saw the village. Now, I hear it." His voice softened. "It's like the world's been trying to talk to me all this time — and I finally understand what it's saying."
Darius placed a hand on his shoulder, firm and proud. "Then listen carefully, son. The Deep gave you that gift for a reason. Someday, it'll ask something back."
Aren turned toward him, the blue glow in his blind eyes shimmering faintly. "And when that day comes?"
His father's Ghast-fire eyes flared softly in the dark. "Then you'll answer — loud enough for the whole world to hear."
Together, they crossed through the village gates, the sound of the lake lapping against the walls echoing behind them like the heartbeat of something ancient stirring beneath the surface.
And though Aren could no longer see the stars above… he could feel them humming.