Chapter 5: "Echo of Truth"

  "The first lie of the Vanires was not an act of rebellion, but of compassion—and like all good things in this world, it was punished with extreme rigor."

  — Censored excerpt from the Annals of the Golden Spires

  The Trial of Silaris

  The Chamber of the Eternal Verdict was silent as an open grave.

  Silaris Vanire, the youngest member of the Spires’ Council, kept his hands tightly clasped beneath the table of liquid ebony—not out of reverence, but to hide their trembling. Before him, the eleven other counselors formed a perfect semicircle, their impassive faces lit by the ghostly glow from the vaulted ceiling.

  "Repeat your statement," requested Elyrion, the Dean, his bony fingers drumming the armrest.

  Silaris swallowed hard. The metallic taste of fear filled his mouth.

  "The Spires’ construction is complete," he said, each word burning his throat like poison. "No plague, no Void, no force in this world can breach our—"

  CRACK.

  A sound like breaking bones echoed through the chamber. Silaris fell to his knees, his hands flying to his neck where his throat now pulsed with a silvery light. Something was tearing through him, wrenching out words he never meant to say:

  "LIES!" his own voice screamed, distorted and grotesque. "THE EASTERN SPIRE HAS A CRACK! THE ENGINEERS ARE DYING TRYING TO REPAIR IT! WE ARE NOT SAFE!"

  The silence that followed was worse than any condemnation.

  Elyrion rose, his raven-feather cloak whispering against the marble floor. When he spoke, it was with the gentleness of a father explaining death to a child:

  "You knew the consequences, Silaris. Lyr’anel’s curse forgives no lies—not even those spoken in mercy."

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  His right hand lifted, revealing a long, sinuous needle made of the same material as the Spires.

  "But there is a way to silence unwanted echoes..."

  The Forge of Stolen Memories

  The Vanire mithril melted strangely.

  Gorin watched the liquid metal bubble in the crucible, its silver veins contracting like living muscles. Even through his armored gloves, he could feel the pressure radiating from the material—as if every drop contained a muffled scream.

  "Master?" Thrain entered the forge, his face still pale from his encounter with the sword. "The elven messengers are here. They ask about the child."

  Gorin did not answer immediately. His eyes were fixed on the black stone mold where he would pour the mithril. The design given by the Vanires was... peculiar. More artifact than weapon, with grooves resembling the patterns of a dissected human brain.

  "Tell the elves we know nothing," he finally growled, lifting the crucible with a trembling hand. "And Thrain..."

  The silvery liquid flowed into the mold, emitting a sound not entirely physical—something between a sigh and a distant lament.

  "...bar the doors. Whatever happens tonight, do not enter."

  As the mold sealed, Gorin swore he saw faces twisting in the metal—fleeting glimpses of men, women, and children he’d never known, yet whose memories now dwelled in the heart of this cursed blade.

  Lirien’s Last Dream

  The forest smelled of sweet rot.

  Veylis followed the trail of silvery webs glowing faintly under the black moon. They led deeper into the Whispering Grove, where trees leaned at impossible angles, as if trying to flee something buried in the earth.

  And then she found her.

  Lirien stood at the center of a circular clearing, her bare feet sunk in a black, pulsing substance coating the ground. The child was not alone.

  "He showed me the loom," Lirien whispered without turning. Her voice carried a strange echo, as if many spoke through her. "The true loom, not the copy Nytheris shows the elves."

  Veylis stepped forward, and the ground breathed beneath her feet.

  "Lirien, we must return. The healers can—"

  "They can do nothing," the child interrupted. When she finally turned, Veylis saw her eyes were no longer black—they were perfect mirrors, reflecting not the clearing, but a vast void dotted with golden threads. "Because I was never ill. I was only... remembering."

  When Lirien smiled, her teeth were sharp as needles.

  "And now I’ve remembered enough."

  The black substance rose like a wave, wrapping the child in a shimmering cocoon. For an instant, Veylis saw the outline of something larger writhing within—multiple limbs, eyes opening and closing in hypnotic patterns, a mouth that was also a gateway.

  Then the cocoon split, and where Lirien had stood, there was now a tall figure wreathed in shadows, its eyes reflecting the cosmic loom Veylis knew so well.

  "The first is complete," said the thing that had been Lirien, its voice now a chorus of whispers. "How many more will it take before you understand, Prophetess?"

  Before Veylis could answer, the ground gave way beneath her, swallowing her into darkness.