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The Fraying Crown

ผู้เขียน: Silver Moon
last update ปรับปรุงล่าสุด: 2025-10-28 09:15:53

silence in Veyra’s private chamber was never truly silent anymore.

Once, she had found comfort in the low hum of the conduits beneath her feet, the steady rhythm of the Vein’s pulse thrumming through the walls — a sound that had guided her since she first ascended to the Council’s throne.

But now the pulse had changed. It didn’t hum. It breathed.

And sometimes, when she was alone, she could swear it whispered.

She stood before the mirror of obsidian — an artifact older than the Council itself — and stared into her reflection. The faint gold shimmer of her eyes flickered unevenly, like a flame fighting the wind.

The surface rippled.

“You’ve been busy,” came a voice — not from behind her, but from within the glass.

Veyra didn’t flinch. “I don’t answer to shadows.”

“Don’t you?”

The reflection smirked
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  • Soulbound   The Hollow Choir

    The air was thicker the farther they went — not with heat or mist, but with presence. Every step Veyra took pressed against something unseen, like walking through the heartbeat of a living creature. The light here no longer came from the walls. It pulsed through the air itself, forming veins that hung like drifting roots. Each pulse beat slower now, measured and deep, echoing faintly in her chest. Soreth walked beside her, silent. The others followed in formation, but the rhythm of their movements had grown uneven. One by one, they were beginning to feel the pressure — that constant, humming pull that wasn’t sound but something far more primal. “What is that?” one whispered. Veyra didn’t answer. She knew the question wasn’t meant for her. Because she heard it too — faint music threaded beneath the heartbeat. A low hum, layered with countless voices. —we remember— —we remember— The words brushed her mind like cold fingers. They reached a split in the tunnels — one path glowin

  • Soulbound   Beneath the Silence

    The Citadel had gone quiet, but it was the wrong kind of silence — the kind that hummed under the skin. Veyra stood at the heart of the Veil’s descent platform, her cloak torn, the ash of shattered conduits still clinging to her sleeves. Around her, the air was thick with residual gold — dust-like motes drifting lazily, each one carrying the faint echo of the heartbeat that had shaken their world. The strike team assembled in a tight circle. Armor glinted in the low light, sigils etched into their weapons pulsing faintly in rhythm with their own marks. They were the strongest of the remaining reapers, but none dared meet Veyra’s eyes. Soreth approached last, his usual composure frayed. “The lower strata are unstable. Our path might not hold.” Veyra’s voice was calm, precise. “We won’t have another chance to trace the surge.” He gave a slow, uneasy nod. “Do you even know what you’re walking into?” “I know enough,” she said, stepping toward the edge of the platform. Beneath them,

  • Soulbound   The Fractured Pulse

    The world of the dead was shaking. Cracks of golden light spidered through the obsidian floor of the Council Hall. The Vein’s conduits — those great rivers of spectral energy that connected every realm — pulsed erratically, throwing long, jagged shadows across the chamber. Alarms echoed through the fortress of the Veil. “Stabilize the flow!” someone shouted. “It’s not responding— it’s reversing!” “Reverse? What do you mean reversing?” Veyra slammed her hand down on the dais. “Enough!” Her voice cut through the din like a blade. The light bleeding through the walls flickered, trembling at her tone. “Report, now!” A lesser reaper stumbled forward, his robes scorched, eyes wide with panic. “The conduits are surging, Councilor. The flow isn’t draining souls— it’s feeding back into the core. It’s coming from below the sixth strata.” “The Vein,” Soreth said flatly. His voice was low, dangerous. “Something has disturbed it.” Veyra turned on him. “You think I don’t see that?” The fl

  • Soulbound   The Shape of What Remains

    The world beyond the gate was not darkness. It was memory. Colors bled through the air like watercolor on glass — images flickering in and out of form: faces, cities, broken skies. Every step Avery took disturbed the reflections, sending ripples of light curling outward like disturbed water. Kael walked behind her, silent but tense. His hand hovered near the hilt of his scythe, though even he seemed to know it would do no good here. “This isn’t part of the Vein,” he murmured. “Not the living current, at least.” Avery nodded, her voice hushed. “It’s… what’s underneath it.” The ground beneath her glowed faintly, veins of light branching out from her feet with each step. When she stopped, the glow faded. When she breathed, the air shimmered. She was tethered to this place. The realization made her chest tighten — half awe, half dread. “Do you hear that?” Kael asked suddenly. Avery strained to listen. There — faint, rhythmic, like a whisper behind a wall. A heartbeat. No — many

  • Soulbound   Beneath the Living Current

    Light seeped through the cracks of her skin. It wasn’t pain — not exactly. It was something older, deeper, like her bones were remembering a language they had never been taught. Avery gasped and sat upright. The world around her pulsed with light — not the clean silver of the Reaper’s realm, but molten gold laced with darkness, like sunlight trapped beneath black water. The air shimmered, every breath thick and heavy with static. The Vein was alive. And it was watching her. She blinked, trying to focus. Kael knelt nearby, his cloak torn and dusted with glowing ash. One side of his face was smeared with something that looked like blood but burned like starlight. When he saw her move, he exhaled in relief — though the sound carried a note of disbelief. “Avery,” he said quietly. “You… you shouldn’t be awake.” She looked at her hands. Threads of light curled along her palms, veins glowing in rhythm with the pulse underfoot. “What happened?” Kael hesitated. “You touched it. The co

  • Soulbound   The Fraying Crown

    silence in Veyra’s private chamber was never truly silent anymore. Once, she had found comfort in the low hum of the conduits beneath her feet, the steady rhythm of the Vein’s pulse thrumming through the walls — a sound that had guided her since she first ascended to the Council’s throne. But now the pulse had changed. It didn’t hum. It breathed. And sometimes, when she was alone, she could swear it whispered. She stood before the mirror of obsidian — an artifact older than the Council itself — and stared into her reflection. The faint gold shimmer of her eyes flickered unevenly, like a flame fighting the wind. The surface rippled. “You’ve been busy,” came a voice — not from behind her, but from within the glass. Veyra didn’t flinch. “I don’t answer to shadows.” “Don’t you?” The reflection smirked

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