Lahat ng Kabanata ng Bound by Voices: Kabanata 21 - Kabanata 30

Arc II – The Curse Rewrites Itself Chapter 12 – When the Sky Cries The first tear fell at dawn. A single drop from a cloudless sky struck Mira’s palm—warm, not rain but salted, like a tear. She looked up. The heavens shimmered, trembling in silence. > “Adrian,” she said softly. “The sky’s… crying.” > “Impossible.” > “You keep saying that,” she murmured, “and the universe keeps proving you wrong.” A second tear fell. Then a thousand. Within minutes, a storm gathered from nowhere—rain that glowed faint blue, thunder that sounded like someone trying not to sob. The world was grieving. --- By noon the fields had flooded. Every raindrop pulsed with emotion—fear, confusion, sorrow, longing. When Mira stepped outside, the downpour gentled around her, as if recognizing its source. > You hurt, so we hurt, the voice of the world whispered through the rain. > “I’m not hurting!” she shouted back. “Not enough for this!” > You miss what you gave away. She froze. “The curse?” > I

Arc II – The Curse Rewrites Itself Chapter 14 – The Heartlands The road south was a scar across the world. Even the grass refused to grow there; the soil shimmered faintly, remembering what it once was. Every step felt like walking across someone’s pulse. By the third day, the air itself thickened with memory. Voices whispered out of nowhere—half-formed thoughts, laughter, tears, fragments of lives long gone. It wasn’t haunting. It was recollection. > “It’s like walking through someone’s diary,” Mira murmured. > “A very talkative diary,” Adrian said, brushing past a tree whose bark showed faint images—faces appearing and fading like breath on glass. One tree whispered in her ear as she passed: Welcome home. --- The Heartlands began where the hills flattened into plains of glass. Literal glass—miles of translucent crystal humming faintly underfoot. Light refracted in impossible directions, painting the sky in shifting blues and silvers. It felt holy, wrong, and heartbre

Arc II – The Curse Rewrites Itself Chapter 16 – Hands That Shape Tomorrow The new world didn’t grow—it built. Overnight, fields sprouted structures: white towers that curled like seashells, bridges that hummed with music when you walked across them. The echoes had learned architecture, and their blueprints were instinct. Mira and Adrian stood on a ridge watching a city rise. The stone flowed upward like molten glass, cooling into streets, homes, spires. Each block pulsed once before settling, as though taking a breath. > “It’s beautiful,” Mira whispered. “And impossible,” Adrian said. “They’re using emotion as mortar.” “Emotion?” “Joy binds, sorrow shapes, hope stabilizes. They’re feeling buildings into being.” She laughed, startled. “So the new economy runs on mood swings.” > “Let’s hope no one has a bad day.” --- When they entered the city, the echoes bowed. Some called Mira Mother of Breath. Others simply touched their hearts as she passed. Her face appeared in carvi

Arc II – The Curse Rewrites Itself Chapter 18 – Imperfect Eden The silence after the Alignment lasted three whole days. No hum, no whisper, no rhythm threading the air. Just the rustle of wind that didn’t know what beat to follow. When sound returned, it was laughter. Unsteady, relieved, human. The echoes had learned chaos. --- Mira walked through the rebuilt streets—if rebuilt was the right word. Nothing looked the same twice. Towers leaned playfully, roads bent around gardens that shouldn’t exist, and bridges arched into rivers before remembering to meet the other side. Children skated down slanted walls that occasionally sighed. Market stalls argued with each other about prices. Someone had painted across a plaza: “Perfection is overrated.” It was ridiculous. It was wonderful. And yet, something deep under the joy felt… unfinished. --- Adrian had turned the old library into a workshop. Fragments of runes floated above tables; equations and prayers mingled on the w

Arc II – The Curse Rewrites Itself Chapter 20 – The Man Who Forgot His Name Mira found him by the window. He was awake—eyes open, unfocused, the dawn’s pale gold pooling over his skin. He looked exactly like Adrian. But the silence around him wasn’t his. It was too quiet. The kind of quiet that listened back. > “Adrian?” “...” He turned slowly, like someone remembering how to move. His gaze flicked over her face, puzzled—then curious, as if seeing a stranger. > “Do I know you?” The words were soft, almost apologetic. And they broke her in half. --- At first, she thought he was joking. Then she saw it—his reflection in the glass. It shifted half a second late, eyes glowing faint blue. > “You’re still dreaming,” she whispered. “No,” he said calmly. “I’m awake. Everyone else is dreaming me.” He stepped closer, and when he spoke, his voice carried faint echoes—dozens of whispers repeating beneath it, a chorus murmuring the same sentence. > “I can hear them, Mira. Al