Heaven went silent on an ordinary day.
That was the cruel part.
No storms tore the sky apart. No fire fell from above. The sun rose as it always did, casting pale light over the stone roofs of the city, and people woke thinking it would be another normal morning.
Cael woke up hungry.
He lay beneath a broken arch near the southern canal, staring at the cracked stone above him. Cold seeped through his thin coat, and his stomach ached in a familiar way. He had eaten only a piece of old bread the day before. Today, he had nothing.
He sat up slowly and listened.
The city was awake.
Bells rang from the Quiet Church, steady and calm. Somewhere nearby, a cart rolled over stone, its wheels creaking. Voices drifted through the air—vendors calling out prices, neighbors arguing, children laughing.
Everything sounded… normal.
Cael stood, brushed dust from his clothes, and walked to the canal. He knelt and splashed water onto his face. The water was cold and smelled faintly of iron, but it woke him better than sleep ever could.
His reflection stared back at him from the rippling surface.
He looked ordinary. Dark hair, pale skin, tired eyes. No glowing marks. No strange light behind his pupils. Nothing that suggested power or blessing.
That, too, was familiar.
People like him did not ascend. They did not hear Echoes. They did not become important.
They survived.
Cael straightened and followed the canal path toward the market. If he was lucky, someone would drop food. If he was unlucky, the guards would decide he looked suspicious and chase him off.
As he walked, a crowd caught his attention.
A preacher stood on a raised stone platform near the bridge, his gray robes clean and well-kept. Around him, dozens of people listened closely.
"The Silence is not abandonment," the preacher said loudly. "It is proof that the gods still watch us."
Some in the crowd nodded. Others clasped their hands in prayer.
"For generations," the preacher continued, "Heaven spoke freely. And what did mortals do? They begged. They demanded. They reached for power they were not ready to hold."
Cael stopped at the edge of the crowd.
"The gods grew quiet," the preacher said, "not out of cruelty, but mercy."
A woman near the front began to cry. "I heard Him once," she said shakily. "In my sleep. He showed me a burning road and a crown of light."
The preacher smiled. "Then you were blessed."
"But now He won't answer," she whispered. "No matter how much I pray."
The preacher placed a hand over his heart. "Silence is still an answer."
The crowd murmured in agreement.
Cael turned away.
He had heard these words all his life. Silence meant faith. Silence meant love. Silence meant punishment. The meaning changed, but the conclusion never did.
The gods were never wrong.
He left the crowd behind and crossed into the eastern district.
The buildings there were older, their stones darkened by time. Symbols were carved into walls and doorframes—faded marks left behind from ages when people believed protection could be etched into stone.
The air felt heavier here. Sounds didn't travel as far. Even footsteps seemed muted.
Cael didn't like this part of the city, but food scraps were more common here. Wealthy districts were cleaner. Older districts were careless.
He had just turned a corner when he heard it.
A scream.
At first, it sounded strange—almost like laughter. High and breathless. A few people nearby paused, confused.
Then the scream changed.
It dropped into something raw and painful, a sound pulled from deep inside the chest. Fear rushed through the street like a wave.
Cael moved without thinking.
He followed the sound.
People ran past him, some shouting, others pale and silent. A man stumbled by, clutching his head. A woman fell to her knees, covering her ears as if trying to block out something only she could hear.
Cael felt nothing.
No voice.
No pressure.
No whisper.
Just silence.
He reached a small open square and stopped.
A young woman stood in the center.
She was barefoot, her dress torn and dirty. Her head was tilted back, mouth open in a frozen scream. Light shone from her eyes—not glowing, but reflecting something unseen.
The air around her bent strangely. Stone beneath her feet softened, sagging as if it were melting. A wooden door nearby aged rapidly, cracking and splitting.
Cael's heart pounded.
She had heard an Echo.
This wasn't ascension. This was failure.
"Please," the woman whispered, her voice overlapping itself, as if two people spoke at once. "It won't stop talking. It keeps showing me things."
She stumbled forward.
A man rushed to help her and grabbed her arm.
The scream that followed shattered every window nearby.
The man collapsed instantly, blood pouring from his nose and ears. His eyes rolled back, and he did not move again.
People screamed and fled.
Cael stayed where he was.
He watched carefully.
Her shadow moved wrong. The light bent away from her instead of toward her. Symbols carved into the stones beneath her feet glowed faintly.
She wasn't becoming something greater.
She was being torn open.
Her eyes snapped toward Cael.
For a moment, something brushed against him.
Not a voice.
A question.
Cold. Vast. Curious.
Cael's breath caught. The pressure built—
Then stopped.
The presence recoiled, as if confused.
The woman gasped. "Why… why can't it hear you?" she whispered.
Before Cael could react, bells rang.
Soft at first. Then louder.
Members of the Quiet Church entered the square, faces hidden behind pale masks. They moved quickly, forming a circle around the woman.
"Step back," one commanded.
The woman saw the knives they carried.
Understanding returned to her eyes for a single heartbeat.
"No," she begged. "Please—"
The bells rang again.
The sound wasn't meant for human ears.
Her body stiffened. The light drained from her eyes. Smoke rose faintly from her skin as she collapsed lifelessly to the ground.
Silence followed.
The Church wrapped the body. The man who had touched her was dragged away, still breathing but clearly broken.
People whispered.
"Another one."
"She was too weak."
"May the gods forgive her."
Cael stared at the empty stones.
That presence had hesitated.
Not rejected him.
Hesitated.
That night, Cael sat alone by the canal.
Above the city, far beyond the sky, something shifted.
Heaven had noticed something that did not belong.
And for the first time, it listened to silence.