Spell For Silence Novels & Stories

We both stand there, cold wind freezing the blood in our faces as we look over the city lights and at the frozen waters far down below. “So what do you do when you come here? Nothing?” I ask. “Silence. I enjoy the silence,” he tells me simply. I pause before speaking again. “I hate silence, it’s boring and scary, and… I just hate being left alone with my scrambled thoughts,” I tell him. “Sometimes silence can mean not entertaining your thoughts too. Just peace and stillness from everything, especially your thoughts,” he explains, turning to me. “How?” “Just don’t think.”

​The silence of the cell was absolute, a heavy and suffocating weight that felt like it was pressing the very air out of my lungs. I lay on the cold, sterile floor, Silas’s parting words echoing in my mind like a rhythmic drumbeat. Stop my heart. It was a classic Sovereign technique—the "Death-Sleep" used by the ancient queens of the North to survive the Great Frost or to hide their presence from trackers. But it required a level of internal control and mental stillness that I had never truly mastered. I had always been the fire, the storm, and the explosion. I didn't know how to be the still, frozen lake beneath the ice.

Crack. Shatter. Silence. Or maybe just to my ears.

Silent. Burning.

"We fought for the 'Silence'! We fought to be 'Real'!" "But 'Real' is 'Heavy', Avery-Node," a woman replied, her voice sounding muffled, as if she were speaking through water. "The 'Silence' is a 'Void.' The 'Hydro-Symmetry' is a 'Cradle.' We don't want to be 'Finite' anymore. We want to be 'Deep.'"

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.

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.

‌S‍u‍‍cc⁠e⁠s‌s did‍n’t sound lik⁠e⁠ applause anymore. I‍t‍ sounded l‍ike silence after eve‌r⁠yone left‍ the ro‍o‍m.⁠

No quiet correction or gentle redirect that could change what it meant. The silence she left behind wasn't empty. It was the sound of something finally, completely finished.

Everyone quietened down. The silence was deafening.