Leyla stood at the edge of the shadows, her form still wrapped in smoke and starlight. Her eyes gleamed, twin galaxies pulsing with curiosity and something more, something like pride.
"You escaped perfection," she said, her voice a silk thread in the air. "I am impressed."
Annie stood straight, shoulders squared, breath steady, but her pulse thundered in her ears.
"I knew the child was the only thing that might have worked against you," Leyla continued, stepping closer. "Most people are given sorrow. Pain. Loss. They never leave. But that would not have worked on you, would it?"
Annie didn't answer.
She didn't have to.
Leyla tilted her head, studying her like one examines a rare bloom blooming out of season.
"You passed," she said finally. "So I will give you something else. Something no one else ever will. A truth carved from your mind long ago. A memory the priests tried to erase."
The shadows swirled—
And then Leyla stilled.
Her body went rigid. Her eyes rolled back, galaxies blinking out, replaced by void.
When she spoke, it was not with her voice.
It was older. Cracked. Like stone grinding on stone.
"If Aerion dies," the voice rasped, "the seals will begin to weaken. And something older than the gods will wake."
Annie flinched. "Seals?" she breathed.
Leyla didn't respond.
Not as herself.
The voice pressed on, layered with echoes that weren't human:
"The Pantheon does not stand because we are strong."
"It stands because something worse agreed not to notice us."
The darkness around them pulsed. Heavy. Too heavy.
"You are not the first to bear the runes."
"You are the last to carry the key."
"Do not seek the door."
Then—
Leyla gasped.
The light in her eyes returned like a candle relit, flickering with confusion. She swayed slightly, catching herself, as if waking from a deep, dreamless sleep.
"…What?" she asked, blinking. "What just happened?"
Annie stared at her, frozen. Her breath shallow. Her thoughts a tornado.
Don't seek the door.
She didn't answer.
Leyla tilted her head. "Did I say something?"
Annie shook her head. "Nothing," she lied.
Because she couldn't give that truth away. Not yet.
Not ever.
Annie's hands curled at her sides.
That had not been a gift. That had been a crack in the mirror.
A start.
She lifted her chin. "Will you activate my rune?"
Leyla's lips curled into something like a grin. It held shadows in its edges.
"I will."
Annie narrowed her eyes. "What will it cost me?"
Leyla did not answer right away.
She moved in slow, circling steps, the edges of her body fading and returning like candlelight in fog.
Then, softly—
"What do you want it to cost?"
The question hit like a blade.
Because Annie wasn't sure if she wanted it to be easy…
Or if she wanted to bleed.
And that was the real test.
Leyla circled her once more, fingers trailing through the dark like ribbons, her voice soft but cutting:
"So tell me, Rune Carved… what price will you pay for power?"
Annie met her gaze without hesitation. "Name it."
Leyla's lips curled, amused. "You are always so quick to give. It is what made you breakable, once. But not anymore."
She stopped in front of her, eyes reflecting endless night.
"You have reclaimed your body. You have fought for your choices. You have carried pain like armor, and love like a blade."
Leyla leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper wrapped in shadow.
"But your voice… you have only just begun to wield that."
Annie stiffened.
"I will awaken your rune," Leyla said, brushing a cool hand down her forearm where the old mark still glowed faintly beneath the skin. "But for three days, you will not speak. Not a word. Not a whisper. You will try… and nothing will come."
Annie opened her mouth to protest, only for Leyla to raise a hand.
"Not a curse. A promise."
She stepped back, darkness swirling tighter now.
"Learn the language of silence. Of shadows. Of presence. That is where power lives. Not in noise."
Annie swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry.
"Do you accept?"
She nodded.
And the shadows surged forward like breath held too long—
And stolen.
Light pulsed up her arm in violent violet waves, not crawling but tearing, like claws under her skin, dragging secrets to the surface. Her bones felt hollowed, refilled with something older than breath.
But no sound came.
Nothing.
Not even a gasp.
Her mouth opened wide.
Her body convulsed.
And still—
Silence.
Leyla's smile was distant. Regal. Unapologetic.
"Your silence begins now."
And with that, the rune on Annie's forearm burst to life in eerie violet flame, alive, awakened, and waiting.
She appeared at the edge of Arbor in a ripple of violet light.
Still dressed in the shadows of Leyla's realm.
Still silent.
The rune on her forearm glowed beneath her sleeve, alive and thrumming. A newly awakened weight in her bones.
She walked through the misted garden path, past the trees that hummed her name, toward the tall black door with the silver vine etchings.
Arbor.
Home.
She raised a trembling hand and rang the bell.
The door swung open before the sound had even faded.
And there he was.
Malvor.
Hair mussed like he had been pacing.
Coffee in hand.
Eyes wide with joy.
"Annie," he breathed, his grin stretching wide. "Hi, Annie, my love."
She didn't speak.
Just threw herself into his arms.
He staggered slightly, but wrapped her up without hesitation, pulling her close, kissing her temple, her hair, her cheek.
"I missed you," he murmured. "I was going to pretend not to, but I did. Arbor missed you too, it started killing all the houseplants. I think it was mourning."
Annie buried her face in his chest.
Clung to him like the silence might carry her away if she let go.
He rubbed slow circles into her back, humming something off-key into her hair.
"Want coffee?" he whispered. "Want to go to bed? Or should I ask what horrors Leyla put you through?"
Still, she said nothing.
Just tightened her arms around his waist.
And he, still not noticing, just smiled.
"Gods, you smell like shadows and stardust. Did she dip you in nightmare soup again?"
No answer.
He finally pulled back, blinking down at her.
"Hey… Annie?"
She looked up at him with wet lashes, eyes red-rimmed, lips parted—
And didn't speak.
"…Annie?"
He cupped her face. "What's wrong? You're not hurt, are you?"
She shook her head.
"No?" he asked softly. "Then what—"
And then it hit him.
The silence.
Not a word.
Not a single word.
He froze.
His heart stuttered.
"…Annie, say something," he said, voice cracking.
But she only looked at him with those fierce, mournful eyes—
And kissed his palm.
He stepped back slowly, as if the world tilted.
"…What did she take from you?"
And Annie, trembling, luminous with power, only reached up…
And traced his lips with her fingers.
Then curled them into I love you in the air.
His knees buckled. Just a little.
And he caught her again.
Holding her like she might vanish.
Holding her like she was still whole.
Even in silence.
Especially in silence.