Chapter 21 – Hymn of Chains
The Choir's voices rose in perfect, suffocating unison. Each note struck Lucien's skull like a hammer, burrowing into his thoughts, reshaping them into verses that were not his own. The staff in the priest's hand pulsed with every chant, rippling the swamp mist into shapes—faces screaming, mouths open in eternal song.
Liora braced herself, teeth clenched against the pressure, her sword glowing faintly with the warding runes etched into its steel. Even so, she staggered a step back.
"Lucien," she shouted over the din, her voice raw. "Don't listen!"
But the hymn was already inside him.
Do not fight, Requiem whispered, its voice silk and flame. They are your kin. They know the song. With them, you are no longer broken—you are a verse of eternity.
Lucien's vision blurred crimson. He saw himself dropping the sword, falling to his knees before the Choir, and their hands reaching out, not to bind, but to lift. To crown.
And then—Lira's face cut through the vision. Thin cheeks, sunken eyes, her smile despite the hunger. His sister, waiting.
Lucien's breath tore free in a ragged growl. "No. I am not theirs."
The Choir priest tilted his head, amused. "Not yet." He slammed his staff against the ground.
The chanting fractured into jagged notes. From the mud, black roots erupted—tendons of shadow writhing toward Lucien and Liora like serpents.
Lucien swung Requiem. Crimson fire hissed as the blade sliced through the roots, severing them mid-lash. For each one cut, two more slithered up, the swamp becoming a nest of shadow.
"Keep them off me!" Liora cried, slashing her way to his side. Her sword carved arcs of silver light, cleaving the tendrils, but already her arms bled from shallow cuts where shadows had struck.
Lucien's instincts screamed. The priest wasn't trying to kill them. Not yet. He was testing Requiem's response. Testing him.
The black-eyed man extended his free hand. "Lucien vale. Stop pretending. Every swing of that blade proves the truth. You are one of us already. Come willingly, or I will make you kneel."
Requiem's voice grew frantic, desperate. Let me burn them. Give me reign, Lucien. Only then will they break.
The air was a storm of hymns and fire, shadows and steel. Lucien stood at the center, his body shaking, every choice dragging him closer to ruin.
He could fight with his own strength and risk being swallowed whole by the Choir's relentless tide.
Or he could unleash Requiem fully—accept its hunger—and risk losing himself to its crimson hymn.
For a heartbeat, his grip wavered. His chest heaved.
Then he lifted the blade.
"I am not your verse," Lucien snarled, voice breaking against the weight of song. "I'll write my own."
And crimson fire roared to life, brighter and deadlier than ever.
---
✨ End of Chapter 21