Silence Storm Novels & Stories

He put it to the highest volume so that he won’t hear any noise aside from his music. Meanwhile, a loud noise can be heard in a nearby house. The breaking sound of the glass that comes off the table rang out in the whole house. There, a guy came out of the house while hanging his empty bag on his shoulder. He has this blank and emotionless face while walking out of the house. He looked at his own Harry Winston wrist watch that was a gift to him by his father.

I was frozen in place for what felt like forever. I did not shed even a single tear. It turned out that when a person felt the most devastated they had ever felt, they would not even be able to cry. The sun dipped below the horizon. A blood-red glow swallowed everything. The television said it would get hotter in the next few days. It was dry, so we had to be careful about fires.

“I didn’t spy…” Stacy whispered, shaking like a dry leaf in a storm. “Beta Damon told me. He mentioned it last night.” “Damn it!” Cassian cursed loudly, his voice cracking through the room like a whip, raw and furious. He dragged a hand over his face, disappointment radiating from him like heat waves. He remained silent, his chest heaving slowly as if he were reining himself in. Then… SLAM! The door burst open with such force that it smacked the wall. Damon stumbled inside, gasping for breath, sweat plastering in his hair to his forehead.

Marcus growled. "No. It is trying to exist. The same way the Rage was trying to exist. The same way the reflections were trying to exist. The Silence is the space that makes music possible. Without it, the choir is just noise. The Silence is not attacking us. It is trying to be heard." "Something that eats doors is trying to be heard." "The Rage tried to drain the Figure through the Bridge. The first Harmony's compound interest nearly restructured physics. Every component of the Figure's original sacrifice has reacted to being ignored with increasingly desperate measures."

Silent. Staring at her with those dead eyes. More seconds passed. The air in the room felt wrong. Too thick. Too cold. Carmina took a step backward without meaning to. Then another. Her back hit the door. "Killian," she whispered. Nothing. The silence was worse than shouting. Worse than violence. It was the silence before something terrible happens. Carmina's heart was hammering in her chest. Her hands shaking so badly she could barely hold her cane. "Say something," she said.

The microphone, covered in a black foam wind muff, looked like a predatory bird perched on the end of Nike’s arm. "So," Nike began, the red light on her recorder glowing like a warning eye. "I’m standing here with the 'Silent Artist of Surulere.' Tobi, the whole city is talking about this mural. People say you’ve turned a storage shed into a temple. Tell us, why the silence? Is it a protest? A choice? Or are the colors simply too loud for words?" She thrust the microphone forward. The silence that followed was so heavy it seemed to dampen the sound of distant traffic.

Wynnie did not notice what I was doing and continued to shout arrogantly, “You’re abusing your authority. I’m telling you right now. This isn’t over!” I let out a cold chuckle and placed the miniature listening device in front of her. She stopped talking instantly, and her expression changed dramatically. … “Ms. Lynn, where exactly did these listening devices in your suitcase come from? Don’t tell me this is because someone else is framing you again.” The security officer stared at her coldly.

They giggled and whispered. Silas walked up onto the stage and stood in front of all of them with his hands placed on his hips. He cleared his throat. All of them immediately stopped talking and all eyes were on him. Power radiated off of him and his voice was loud and clear as he spoke out to them, "We have a visitor."

The hammers slowed to a steady, rhythmic thrum—the heartbeat of a mountain that had just won its first breath of freedom. ​The Surgeon lay still on the floor, its parchment-like skin blackened by the intensity of our noise. It looked up at me with a newfound, terrifying respect. ​"You... have... become the... Storm," it whispered. "The Silence... will... avoid... this... frequency. For now." ​Killian stood at the edge of the ward, his spear tip resting on the ground. He looked out the shattered windows at a sky that was finally, truly black—not with the void, but with the honest dark of night.

STORM I sat at my desk, the weight of silence pressing against my skull like a vice. The office was dim, only the glow from the desk lamp spreading a circle of weak yellow light over the papers, the flash drive, and the laptop screen. I had shut the world out deliberately. no calls, no noise, no interruptions. All I wanted was clarity. But clarity wasn’t what I got.