Description
The sky over the capital did not turn black; it turned white. A blinding, deafening white.
Lord Malakor Vane stood on the balcony of the Obsidian Palace, his knuckles gripping the railing until the stone cracked. Beneath him, the city of Aria was screaming. Not in fear, but in chaos. The raw magic of the Aether had torn loose, a cacophony of uncontrolled energy shredding buildings like paper.
“Malakor!”
He turned. Seraphina reached for him, her robes whipping in the violent gale of sound. The air between them shimmered, distorting her face. The frequency of the air itself was changing, vibrating apart.
“Hold on!” Vane roared, his voice a magically amplified boom that pushed back the chaos for a fraction of a second. He raised his hand, channeling every ounce of his Resonance to stabilize the atmosphere around her.
But the chaos was too discordant. It found the frequency of Seraphina’s very existence.
“I love you,” she mouthed. He couldn’t hear her. The roar of the storm swallowed everything.
And then, she shattered. Not into blood and bone, but into dust and a single, mournful minor chord that echoed in Vane’s soul.
The explosion threw Vane backward. When he woke, hours later, the city was gone. The chaos had settled.
He stood in the ruins, bleeding, broken. He closed his eyes and listened. He heard the wind. He heard a survivor weeping miles away. He heard the chaotic, messy, painful noise of the world.
“Never again,” Vane whispered. “Chaos brings pain. Silence… Silence is order.”
He raised a hand, and for the first time, he didn’t weave the sound. He crushed it.
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