The silence after Armand lifted the blade was deafening. Grace Johnson's eyes searched his face, desperate to know which side he had chosen. Professor Wright stood motionless, his own knife humming faintly, waiting for the verdict.
Armand's grip tightened. The whisper inside his blade was steady, calm — a voice that urged caution, not destruction. He raised it toward the professor, not in attack, but in defiance.
"I won't silence the Circle," Armand said, his voice firm despite the tremor in his chest. "The whispers are warnings. I heard them, and I believe them."
Professor Wright's smile vanished, replaced by a cold fury. "Then you are a fool. And fools don't survive long."
He lunged, his blade slicing through the air with a shriek that rattled the shelves. Grace moved instantly, her knife intercepting his strike. Sparks flew as steel met steel, the clash echoing like thunder in the small office.
Armand staggered back, the whispers in his blade rising, guiding him. Protect. Defend. Trust no one. The words pulsed through him, sharpening his focus.
Grace shouted, "Armand, now!"
He stepped forward, raising his blade. The hum grew louder, resonating with Grace's knife, their whispers joining into one unified voice. Together, they pushed against Wright's strike, forcing him back.
The professor's eyes widened as the resonance shook the room. For the first time, his blade faltered.
Armand realized the truth: the whispers weren't meant to be heard alone. They were strongest when joined together.