Silence Vow Novels & Stories

The words catch, hesitate, then burst forth, broken by tears: — I choose to walk with him, in faith and in love. Then, the brother joins our hands. His fragile fingers trace the sign of the cross above us. His eyes close for an instant, as if to seal a silent prayer. — May these betrothal vows be the seal of your covenant. Not in secrecy, but in light. Silence falls again. But it is no longer the heavy silence of nights of waiting, nor that of stifled secrets. It is a vast silence, inhabited, a silence that breathes with us.

"I need... I'm calling because of the pact, Astance." The silence returned, colder this time. Five years ago, on a rain-slicked pier with our hearts in tatters, we had made a blood oath of silence. We had promised that we would never speak again, never cross paths, and never inhabit the same circles. We were a chemical reaction that had levelled a city, and for the safety of the world, we had to remain apart. But there had been one caveat, the Final Wish. A single, unbreakable favour that either could claim, no questions asked, before we vanished from each other’s lives forever.

The silver cord lay coiled neatly on the altar, waiting. Waiting to bind him. Waiting to erase me. The realization hit me with sudden, suffocating clarity. If Damon spoke those vows tomorrow, if he accepted the cord and sealed it before the Goddess, the bond I felt, however strained, however denied, would be forced into silence. Not faded, silenced. There was a difference. Fading was natural… it implied weakness, distance, mutual release but silence on the other hand was violent. It meant the ritual would override whatever truth lay beneath.

But this time, not with silence. With consent

This time, it was not for show. I watched the drama unfold as a smile played on my lips. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I knew by heart. Charles, up on stage, whipped his head around to stare at me. I rose to my feet, my voice clear and steady as I said, "Congratulations on your wedding. Did you enjoy my present?"

Complete, total silence. "That silence," Hector said quietly, "is the answer." Another elder rose, slower this time, considering. "Perhaps Alpha Hector has a point," he said. "If the issue is simply the existence of the vow itself, the solution may be straightforward. Revoke it." "I would gladly accept that," Hector said immediately. "If revoking the vow protects our child and allows this realm to move forward, I have no objection whatsoever." The room began discussing logistics, voices overlapping, until one elder near the back spoke up, quieter than the rest, and the room gradually fell silent to hear him.

She was going to take away my mark and give us a potion that would erase the last twenty-four hours of their memories. "Excellent" Tony said. He went to leave again but stopped and looked at me. I felt something radiating off of him now. It was almost like a constricting, invisible force surrounding my entire body. "You will do whatever it takes to get that treaty and destroy it. You will not say a word about this to anyone who is not from the Crystal Lake Pack" He said. I could feel the words coming up my throat, almost like I had no control over my own voice "Yes Alpha" I said and bowed my head. Then Tony walked out of the door and the force went with him.

a voice called, distant but familiar. I didn’t have the strength to respond. My eyes fluttered shut as the darkness took over. Finally, silence.

Eyes turned toward me, the silence long enough to fray the nerves of lesser men. I let it stretch, refusing to be rushed, until the silence bent to me rather than to him. Then, without flourish, without visible strain, I gave my answer: “The Vitale name holds. The duty remains ours.” The Don’s lips curved faintly, not in approval but recognition. I had not postured. I had not explained. I had given them nothing but certainty, carved out the silence. Victor shifted beside me, restless. I did not look at him. My silence was not for him or Don Francesco—it was for myself. A reminder that control was not in words but in the power to withhold them.

Behind his eyelids, the Utterance stirred with ancient, weary understanding. Before I asked WHY, the nine-billion-year-old consciousness whispered, there was Silence. Not emptiness. Silence. The Silence that precedes every word. The Silence that makes speech possible. Without the pause before a sentence, the sentence has no beginning. Without the Silence before creation, creation has no origin. "The Silence is not our enemy," Jack said, opening his eyes. "It is eating our choir," Marcus growled.