The Voice Of The Voiceless Novels & Stories

One that should not have existed. One that made all three Sovereigns freeze. Because the voice belonged to themselves. And it whispered: "Tell the truth."

I pressed my hand against his chest. Waiting. Listening. Nothing My Heart Stopped “No…” This time it came out broken. “No, no, no…” My fingers tightened in his shirt. “You don’t get to do this,” I whispered. The Voice Inside Me Was Silent For the first time She didn’t speak. Didn’t interfere. Didn’t analyze. Even she understood “Anna…” The voice came from behind me. Careful. Measured. I Didn’t Turn “If you say anything about sacrifice or necessary loss” My voice trembled.

Far away. Someone please. I opened my mouth to call out again. Nothing came. My voice was gone. Not hoarse, not quiet. Gone. Whatever I had been using to produce sound had simply stopped cooperating, spent entirely, and what came out was only air. Voiceless. Soundless. A shape with nothing inside it. I pressed one hand against my chest as though I could physically coax my lungs into working. They didn't. The edges of my vision went from grey to white. My body swayed forward.

“The Enemy will be finally defeated, won’t it? Our cities will be clean and well-lit. There will be no bloodsucking krovososy, no teeming kosmops, no perfidious oborotni, no greedy devouring fists. Motherland will be free.” The Voice chuckled again. “You haven’t heard me speak for a while, have you, little sister?” it said. “The war was going against us and the people were deprived of their sustenance. Now it’s the time to remedy this.” And the Voice spoke. He spoke in words of fire that meant nothing and everything; that made people forget fear and embrace hate; that made husbands abandon wives and wives turn away from husbands in pursuit of a higher love, the love of an abstraction. They m

His eyes shimmered with threadlight and starlight and something more ancient than both. And in that reflection—he was smiling. Azriel blinked. The image rippled and vanished. Velan’s breath hitched behind him. > “It’s not showing what could be,” he whispered. The boy nodded slowly. “It’s showing what already is. You just haven’t reached it yet.” --- The Voice Without Sound The pool stirred. Not with ripples, but with presence. A voice rose—not through ears, but through bones. Soft as breath. Heavy as eternity. > “You heard the flame.”

Even the Heart came, its glow faint but steady, pulsing in rhythm with what remained of the Moons. Lunara’s voice carried softly through them all. “This will not be a battle of power. It will be a battle of will. The Continuum thrives when we surrender our sound.” Nareth’s fire burned blue with determination. “Then let’s give them the loudest silence they’ve ever known.” --- The Voice of the Silent Continuum From beyond the dark horizon, a vibration emerged—not a voice, but a presence. It spoke directly into every soul. > You have corrupted the stillness. You have fractured the whole. Return to silence, or be erased.

the voice answers. "I am sorry to announce you're messing with the wrong person. Call my phone again and I will forward your number to the police," I threaten. The voice lets out a laugh, a deep, mysterious laugh. "Wow! That's the Ven I was looking for. The one with fire in her heart. Now quit letting a sadistic vampire suck the blood out of you then go flaunting their opulence and masculinity in every social media platform." "What do you mean?" I ask, now feeling a bit curious.

Not a flame. A heartbeat. It pulsed once and I remembered the fire that made the first bearers, the wordless rhythm that became sigils, and the warmth that broke time into song. I fell to my knees. Not from pain. From awe. 2. A Voice Without Shape “You returned.” The voice wasn’t male or female. It didn’t echo. It simply existed. I rose slowly. “Who are you?” “You are.” “What is this place?” “This is the question you feared to ask.”

It sounded layered, as if dozens of people were speaking in unison but far away, underwater. “You kept me waiting,” it said. Ramirez froze. “Was that —?” Harrow nodded, her face gone pale. “Subject Zero,” she whispered. The voice came again, clearer this time, childlike and curious. “I’ve been patient. You left me alone. Why did you do that?” Harrow forced herself to respond, even though protocol told her not to engage. “You’re not supposed to be able to speak,” she said softly, leaning toward the microphone. “How are you doing this?”

I pulled free first, “Sorry. But don’t think this counts for anything, I’m still mad at you.” “Fair enough,” he kissed my cheek, “But before we start, know that I won’t be able to answer everything.” I sat on my desk, “Then answer this, who was that voice?” “You’re Muse,” he said lightly. I stared at him blankly, “What do you mean?” “Everyone has some form of music in their souls,” he explained, “But a musician has a unique Muse inside of them, whether it be classical, rock, or a mixture of both.”