The bell above them rang again. The single, perfect tone wasn't sound so much as pressure; it pressed into their bones, kneaded their thoughts like clay. The air thickened, whispers bursting out of the walls like steam from a cracked pipe. The carvings of mouths opened wider, teeth showing now, tongues curling to shape words they could not quite speak.
Lyra clutched her head. Black threads bled from her fingertips, trembling with the force of the voices pressing against her net. "It's too much—!"
Aric's knuckles whitened on the blackened Mirror. The edge of it vibrated with each chime, as if it wanted to shatter. 'Stay anchored. Don't give it an opening,' he thought, forcing his breathing slow.
The faceless silhouette on the dais raised its hand. "Name what you keep unsaid," the whispering voice intoned. "Or be consumed by it."
The bell rang a third time. This one cracked the benches like ice on a pond. Dust fell from the ceiling. The chamber's light dimmed until everything was gold-and-black shadow.
Aric straightened, shoulders squaring. "Fine," he muttered. "Let's dance."
He slammed the Mirror down onto the stone floor. The surface of the Mirror rippled outward, a black sheen spreading like oil across the ground. The next pulse from the bell hit it and bent, splitting into twin arcs that curved back toward the silhouette. The figure wavered.
Lyra gasped. "You're… reflecting the sound—"
"More like folding it." His grin was sharp. "Your turn. Catch it."
She closed her eyes, the net of black filaments quivering. She remembered her grandmother teaching her to weave reed baskets back in the normal world — not sound, not absence, just reeds and hands and patience. She inhaled, steadying her shaking fingers. 'It's just weaving. Nothing more.'
Her net grew, threads thickening, arching over them like a spider's dome. The bell rang again; the dome shuddered but held. Whispers struck it like rain on canvas, dimming to faint sighs.
Aric took a step toward the dais. The Mirror pulsed in his hands. The blackness at its edge crawled inward, like ink seeping into paper. He angled it to catch the next chime.
But this time the bell's tone didn't split — it changed. The single note fractured into dozens of voices, overlapping, whispering his own words back at him.
"You left them behind…"
"You liked the fire…"
"You're just like him…"
The Mirror wobbled. He clenched his jaw. 'Not real. Just echoes.'
The voices sharpened: "Coward. Thief. Murderer."
He gritted his teeth. "Shut up."
The Mirror's surface rippled like water. His reflection appeared, but not his current face — the boy he used to be, wide-eyed and dirty, staring back with hatred. "You never cared about them," it mouthed.
His grip faltered. The reflected boy reached through the surface, fingers stretching like smoke.
"Aric!" Lyra's voice, high with alarm.
He jerked back, snapping the Mirror shut. The smoky hand evaporated. His heart hammered. He looked at Lyra's dome — her own threads flickered as faint whispers clawed at her.
"I'm fine," he lied.
She shot him a glance. "You're not."
The silhouette on the dais tilted its faceless head. "All keep unspoken. All will speak."
The bell rang a fifth time. This one struck Lyra full in the chest. She doubled over. The dome cracked. Voices poured through, hissing.
"…failure…"
"…should have left him…"
"…you'll never be enough…"
Her eyes filled with tears. The black threads slipped from her hands.
Aric lunged, catching her shoulders. "Look at me."
She did. Her pupils were blown wide, like she'd been dropped into darkness.
"You're not what they say," he said, voice low but firm. "They're just shadows. They don't own you."
"I—" she whispered. "It's all my thoughts…"
"Then use them," he said. "Shape them. That's the trial."
Her hands trembled. "I… can't…"
"Yes you can. You already did." He pressed the Mirror into her palms. "Here. Use this."
She stared at it. The surface flickered, showing her own face, tear-streaked. She inhaled, straightening. "Alright."
The bell rang again. She lifted the Mirror. Instead of trying to reflect the sound, she pushed her threads into the surface. Black filaments laced across it, turning the Mirror into a woven net of absence.
The next wave of whispers hit and stuck, tangled in the web. Their voices softened, then vanished. The Mirror pulsed once, warm.
Lyra exhaled, a shaky laugh breaking from her lips. "It worked…"
"Of course it did," Aric said, grinning. "You're terrifying when you concentrate."
She sniffled, managing a small smile. "You're not so bad yourself."
The silhouette raised its hand again, but now its faceless head cocked as if curious. "Silence shaped. Silence heard. Now speak."
Aric tilted his head. "Speak what?"
"Speak what you keep unsaid."
He smirked. "I keep a lot unsaid."
The silhouette's voice was almost gentle. "Then choose wisely."
The bell above them went still, hanging like a dark sun. The whispers ceased. The entire chamber waited.
Lyra swallowed. "If we say nothing…?"
"Then it'll take it from us," Aric guessed. "And I don't plan on losing any more of myself."
She hesitated. "What are you going to say?"
He shrugged one shoulder. "Something true."
He stepped forward, standing at the edge of the dais. He looked up at the bell, then at the faceless silhouette.
"I," he said, voice steady, "am afraid."
The word echoed once, then again, louder. The bell shivered. The silhouette's form wavered. Aric went on.
"I am afraid of becoming the thing I hunt. I am afraid of liking the fire too much. I am afraid I'll fail her like I failed the others."
The last word cracked his voice. The bell pulsed, absorbing the sound. The silhouette bowed its head.
"Spoken," it whispered. "Kept no longer."
It raised its hand. Light spilled from the orb, curling around Aric like warm smoke. For an instant he felt lighter, like a stone dropped from his chest.
He stepped back, exhaling. "Your turn."
Lyra stared at him, eyes shining. "You really…?"
"Yeah," he said softly. "Your turn."
She drew a breath, stepping forward. "I'm afraid too," she whispered. "I'm afraid of losing who I am. I'm afraid of not being enough. I'm afraid of trusting anyone again."
Her voice broke. "But… I want to try."
The bell glowed. The whispers rose, then fell silent. The silhouette dissolved into mist. The orb floated off the dais, drifting to hover between them.
The woman's voice returned, softer, almost pleased. "Second whisper learned: the unsaid spoken loses its power. You have heard yourselves and endured."
The bell faded. The carvings of mouths along the walls closed, sealing their teeth back into stone. The chamber brightened, gold light washing away the shadows.
Lyra wiped her eyes. "That was… intense."
Aric gave a shaky laugh. "Yeah. Vault doesn't play around."
The orb pulsed once more. "The third door opens. Deeper yet."
A section of the dais slid aside, revealing a spiral stair plunging downward. Faint silver mist drifted up from it, carrying a scent like cold rain and burnt paper.
Lyra looked at it, then at him. "Ready?"
He forced a grin. "Not at all. Let's go."
She managed a small laugh. "Good. Me neither."
They stepped toward the stair. Behind them the chamber sealed, whispers fading to nothing. Ahead, the mist curled upward, hiding whatever came next.
Aric touched the blackened edge of the Mirror at his side. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. He thought, 'Two whispers down. How many left?'
As they descended, the air grew colder. The mist thickened, glowing faintly silver. Far below, something boomed once — not a bell this time, but a heartbeat. The stair trembled under their feet.
Lyra whispered, "Tell me we're not walking into something's stomach."
He smirked. "I'll tell you anything you want. Might even be true."
She laughed, tension easing a little. "You're impossible."
"That's my charm."
Another boom echoed up the stair, closer now. The mist shifted, revealing faint carvings on the walls: eyes, hundreds of them, all closed.
Lyra shivered. "I hate this place."
"Then let's finish it fast," Aric said. But inside he thought, 'Third whisper. Whatever it is, it's alive.'
The stair ended at a round platform over a dark chasm. Silver chains hung from the ceiling, swaying without wind. In the center of the platform a single black door waited, no handle, no lock.
Aric and Lyra stepped onto the platform. The chains rattled like distant laughter.
The door shuddered once, then whispered in a voice not their own: "Enter."
They glanced at each other. Lyra's smile was thin. "After you."
He grinned back. "Ladies first."
"Coward."
"Strategist."
They laughed quietly, then together pushed the door. It swung inward, spilling silver light across their faces.
They stepped through.