Morning showed up, but, honestly, you wouldn't have known it by looking outside. Silverwood looked like someone threw a grey blanket over the whole town. No sunlight, just this oppressive gloom pressing in from every corner. People were actually lighting lanterns at noon. Noon! Birds had peaced out too—no songs, just this weird, heavy silence. And as if things weren't weird enough, the stars up in the sky started acting like they'd had one too many: constellations flickered, some just… weren't there anymore.
Elara sat across from Virella in her cramped little kitchen, both of them still shell-shocked from the night before. Virella had made tea because, I mean, what else do you do in a crisis? But neither of them touched it. The scent hung in the air—starroot and juniper, sharp and earthy, almost comforting if the world wasn't falling apart.
"You said they've seen the mark," Elara finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Who are they?"
Virella stared out the window for a second. Maybe hoping for a miracle, maybe just stalling. "They call themselves the Starless," she said, voice all gravel and regret. "They used to be these, like, cosmic bodyguards—guardians of the stars, you know? But something went sideways. They cut themselves off from the sky. Now they just… consume what they were supposed to protect."
Elara's throat felt like sandpaper. "And now they want me?"
Virella nodded, slow and heavy. "You've got the Whisper's mark. It woke up after a thousand years, and now you're basically its new vessel. Congrats?"
A shiver crawled down Elara's spine. "Why me though?"
Virella's eyes were serious, almost sad. "Because you sang. Not just any old tune, either. You sang an echo of the First Melody—the song that made the stars in the first place. Only the Echoborne can do that. And yeah, that means you."
Elara blinked. "Echoborne? Seriously?"
"Your family line is ancient," Virella whispered, leaning in. "Older than the kingdoms. Hidden for a reason."
And then—bang. Except not really a bang. More like this rhythmic tapping, sharp and deliberate, like someone drumming their nails on glass. Elara forgot how to breathe.
Virella was already moving, pulling a blade from her cloak—and, get this, it actually shimmered like it was cut from the night sky itself.
"They've found us," she said. No drama, just the facts.
The window spiderwebbed with cracks. Long, thin lines snaked across the glass. And then this voice, not coming from outside, not even inside, but everywhere at once—inside the walls, inside their bones:
"Return the Whisper. Or we erase your name from the stars."
Elara's palm lit up with pain and the old parchment on the table just… exploded into light.
Lines lifted off the page, hanging in the air, twisting into a new constellation—the Hollow Ring. Only this time, where there used to be a gap? A seventh star flared to life.
It pulsed. Once. Twice. And then—boom—a vision, just like that.
A mountain, black as a nightmare, jagged like a claw tearing at the sky.
Virella sucked in a breath. "The Peak of Threnos. That's where this started. And where it's gotta end."
Elara stood up, hands shaking, heart pounding out some wild battle rhythm. Underneath the fear, something old and stubborn was waking up.
Resolve.
If the stars had picked her, fine. She'd get answers.
And if the Starless wanted a fight?
She'd make them wish they'd never left the sky.