Chapter 13: The City of Silent Choirs
The shattered spires of Aranthor loomed above Lucien and Liora as they passed beneath a crumbling archway. The air was heavy, too still, as though even the wind dared not disturb the ruins. Faded banners clung to the walls, their colors long drained, whispering only of forgotten wars.
Lucien's hand never strayed far from Requiem. The sword pulsed faintly, guiding his steps deeper into the ruins. Every beat of its rhythm echoed inside his chest like a second heart.
"Feels wrong," Liora muttered, scanning the silent streets. Her hand gripped her blade tight. "Too quiet. A place this size shouldn't sleep so easily."
Lucien said nothing. He could feel it too—the weight of unseen eyes, the smothered cries trapped in stone. Aranthor had not died peacefully.
---
They moved cautiously through the main thoroughfare. Statues lined the street, cracked and weathered by time. Once they must have been kings, priests, generals. Now their features were worn smooth, their mouths open in eternal screams.
Liora stopped beside one and touched the stone face with her gauntlet. "These aren't just statues. They were people."
Lucien frowned. "Turned to stone?"
She nodded grimly. "Petrification. Old magic. Cruel magic. Whatever happened here… it silenced an entire city."
The blade at Lucien's side thrummed harder, almost vibrating with hunger. He gritted his teeth. It wanted something here.
---
They reached the heart of the city—a vast plaza, broken fountains and shattered mosaics spread across the ground. At its center stood a cathedral, its doors torn wide, its spires split as if struck by lightning. Dark scorch marks crawled across the walls, reaching skyward like claws.
As they stepped closer, a sound rose on the wind. Not the howl of beasts, not the crack of stone, but voices—hundreds of them, layered together. A chant. A hymn. Low, mournful, endless.
Liora stiffened. "Do you hear that?"
Lucien nodded. The voices weren't outside. They were inside the cathedral.
The doors creaked as they pushed them open. The sound hit them like a wave—the voices swelling, though the cathedral was empty. The pews were broken, the altar shattered, yet the chant continued. Shadows danced along the walls, forming outlines of figures kneeling, rising, bowing. A silent choir etched into memory.
Lucien's stomach turned. The sword burned in his grip, pulling him forward.
---
They reached the altar. Beneath the shattered stone lay a stairwell spiraling downward into darkness. The voices grew louder there, clearer, almost beckoning.
Liora hesitated at the edge. "This feels wrong, Lucien. Whatever's down there—it's not just ruins. It's alive."
Lucien's eyes were hard. "And it's calling to the sword. We need to know why."
For a long moment, Liora searched his face. Then she cursed under her breath and followed him down.
---
The stairwell twisted deep, the air growing colder with each step. The walls were lined with carvings—battlefields, weeping angels, warriors raising their blades toward the sky. But every figure's face was gouged out, defaced, erased.
Finally, they emerged into a vast underground hall. At its center stood a massive choir of stone figures, their mouths open in eternal song. Their hollow eyes glowed faintly, each one locked toward a raised dais at the far end.
Upon the dais rested a massive tome bound in black iron, its surface pulsing faintly with crimson light.
The voices thundered now, rising from the statues, filling the chamber with their endless hymn.
Lucien staggered, clutching his head. The whispers of Requiem merged with the chant, twisting, warping, drowning his thoughts.
Liora grabbed his shoulder. "Lucien! Stay with me!"
He forced his eyes open. The sword's runes blazed, answering the tome's glow. They were connected—two relics, bound by the same cursed origin.
---
The statues shifted. Slowly, impossibly, they stepped down from their places, their stone limbs grinding, their mouths still open in their voiceless song. Dozens of them moved toward Lucien and Liora, weapons of stone raised high.
Liora drew her blade. "Guess we found the choir."
Lucien raised Requiem, his voice rough. "Then let's silence it."
The first statue lunged, and the chamber erupted in chaos.
Stone clashed against steel. Sparks flew as Liora parried a massive halberd, rolling beneath its swing and driving her dagger into a joint. Lucien moved with the rhythm of the blade, each strike carving deep into stone, shattering limbs and heads. But every statue that fell, two more advanced.
The hymn never faltered. The voices only grew louder.
Lucien's vision blurred crimson again. Requiem screamed inside him, urging him to unleash, to surrender. He felt the power boiling, clawing, demanding release.
"Not yet," he snarled through gritted teeth. "Not on your terms!"
He drove the blade into the ground. The runes flared, a shockwave ripping through the chamber. Several statues crumbled instantly, their song silenced. But the effort ripped through his body, leaving him gasping.
Liora pulled him back, blades flashing as she held the line. "Lucien, whatever that tome is—it's the source! Destroy it!"
Lucien's gaze locked on the dais. The book pulsed brighter now, feeding the choir. His chest burned. His blood roared.
He charged.
Statues swarmed him, but he cut through them like a storm, Requiem blazing with unholy fire. He reached the dais, raised the blade high—
And the hymn changed. The voices fused into one. A single, booming voice that shook the chamber:
"At last… the heir of ruin arrives."
The tome snapped open. Crimson light erupted, swallowing Lucien whole.
End of chapter 13