The streets of Eryndor had grown colder, the mist from the river curling like pale fingers along the cobblestones. Silence had settled across the city, but Lyra knew better than to trust it. Silence was not peace—it was the space where monsters and memories conspired, and where the Forgotten often struck first.
Kael moved beside her, sword drawn, eyes scanning the shadows. "Everywhere we go, it's like the city is holding its breath," he murmured. "Like it knows we've stirred something it shouldn't have."
Lyra didn't answer immediately. Her attention was fixed on the alley ahead, where the faintest crimson shimmer glinted under the pale light. The Veil pulsed through her, subtle at first, then like a heartbeat rising in intensity. Every pulse, every whisper, reminded her that the Forgotten were near, that their names had been invoked twice, and that the consequences were arriving.
"What do you hear?" Kael asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "Nothing yet… but listen with more than your ears."
The silence was deafening. A soft scrape echoed against the brick walls—a sound too deliberate to be the wind. Lyra crouched, instinct guiding her. A shadow detached itself from the alley, forming into the shape of a man, tall and ragged, with eyes that gleamed like black opals. His lips were sealed, yet his presence radiated accusation and malice.
"The Forgotten… they're not always loud," Lyra said, moving forward cautiously. "Sometimes what bleeds the most… bleeds in silence."
Kael's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, but Lyra raised a finger. "Wait."
The figure raised its head slightly, tilting it as if observing them. Then, with fluid, unnatural movement, it dissipated into thin air, leaving behind only the scent of iron and ash. Lyra exhaled slowly, heart hammering. "It's testing us," she said. "Every step we take, every choice we make, it learns. The Forgotten are patient hunters."
Kael frowned. "And what of the boy?"
"The boy was a messenger," Lyra replied, her eyes scanning the surrounding streets. "A herald. But the Forgotten are everywhere now. We can't rely on warnings anymore. We must anticipate them, or we die."
They pressed onward, moving silently through the mist-laden streets. Each alley and passage carried its own echo of the past: blood spilled, betrayal hidden, screams swallowed by stone. The Veil hummed around Lyra, almost sentient in its warning, drawing her gaze to the shadows twisting unnaturally around corners, curling like smoke.
A sudden noise—a soft, metallic clang—shattered the silence. Both Lyra and Kael froze, and their eyes met in understanding. This was no accident. The city itself had become an accomplice to the Forgotten, each step a trap, each shadow a lie.
From the darkness, another figure emerged—a woman, draped in a cloak of tattered velvet, eyes glowing with unnatural light. Her face was a mask of sorrow and fury, stitched together with lines that seemed older than time itself.
"You've invoked the blood," she said, voice echoing in multiple tones simultaneously. "You've spoken your names twice. Do you understand what that means?"
Lyra's jaw tightened. "We understand that we cannot stop. That whatever comes, we will face it. And we will survive."
The woman's eyes glimmered with amusement and cruelty. "Survival is a fleeting gift. The Forgotten remember everything. Every betrayal, every failure… every secret you thought buried."
Kael stepped forward, anger flashing across his face. "And what if we fight back?"
The woman laughed, a sound like cracking ice. "Then you will see what bleeds in silence. Pain, loss, and vengeance hidden in places you cannot even imagine. Eryndor itself will bleed for your sins, even those you have yet to commit."
Without another word, she vanished, leaving a trail of icy air and whispered threats that echoed across the empty streets. Lyra's pulse raced. The city was alive with judgment, and the Forgotten were sharpening their claws.
"They're everywhere," Kael said grimly. "No place is safe."
Lyra's gaze hardened. "Then we create our own path. We move through the shadows, not to hide, but to confront. The Forgotten may bleed silently—but we will make our own echoes. And our enemies will hear them."
As they turned to leave the alley, the distant toll of a bell rang out, deep and hollow. The sound carried through the streets, reverberating against stone and silence alike. Lyra knew, with a chill settling over her, that the Forgotten were closer than ever, and that each toll brought them nearer to the reckoning.
Kael's voice broke the tense silence. "Do we even know what we're walking into?"
Lyra's eyes glinted, steely with resolve. "We don't. But we'll find out. And whatever bleeds in silence… we will be the ones to face it."
The mist curled around them as they disappeared into the night, every heartbeat a warning, every shadow a potential threat. The city of Eryndor had secrets that had been buried for centuries, but now, those secrets had begun to rise—and the price of silence was about to be paid in full.