Chapter 2: the song beneath the stone
The storm rolled in with a hush, not a bang. Not a single thunderclap or flash—just this thick, weird quiet that settled over Silverwood, like the world was holding its breath for a punchline that never came. Elara, clutching her secret scroll close, slipped back into the Archives. She hadn't told a soul what she'd found. Not yet. Some discoveries are just too heavy for the rumor mill.
The Forbidden Wing was basically a dare—rusty chains, ancient symbols, all that drama. Supposed to keep nosy types out, but Elara? She's always known the best secrets don't exactly sit on a shelf. Her fingers traced the Twin Moons sigil, stone cold and old as regrets. The air got sharp, prickled her skin. Goosebumps, party of one.
She whispered the constellation's name.
The quiet twitched.
And then—bam—the wall split, like it was tired of pretending.
Inside, the air tasted of dust and old promises. The chamber was a perfect circle, every inch carved with constellations that had probably never even made it onto a stargazer's chart. Symbols drifted along the walls, silver glow just shy of real moonlight. In the center: a pedestal, black as midnight, holding up a crystal disk that pulsed slow and steady. Like a heart, if hearts could be made of starshine.
Elara crept closer, heart in her throat.
She reached, and the wall symbols started sliding around, doing their own cosmic shuffle. Over and over, that spiral-in-a-star symbol winked at her like it was in on the joke.
Then she heard it. Not outside. Inside. Like someone had tuned her brain to a haunted radio station.
Not a voice—a song. Weird and beautiful and a little bit scary, seeping up from under the stone.
She went on pure instinct, palm on the disk.
Light. Everywhere.
Her mind exploded with images—a sky ripped to shreds by shadows, ships surfing storms, some figure wrapped in darkness stretching for a falling star. And that song, threading through it all—the Whisper.
Then, poof. Gone like a dream at sunrise.
Elara staggered back. On her palm—a mark. That same spiral-star, branded right on her skin.
So much for legends. The Whisper was real.
Not just real—a warning.
She'd been chosen. Or maybe cursed.
Something ancient had just snapped awake.
And it was listening.
A thousand years waiting, and now? Now it was hungry.