Secrets in the Silence

The fortress was quieter than it had been previously.

Not in the way a battlefield quiets before the sound of steel — but the way a graveyard settles into itself, waiting, watching.

Ser Aldric's name was already starting to fade from the conversation, swallowed in the crushing silence of the knight order. They did not fail to remember him because they wanted to.

They forgot because they had no other option.

That alone told me we were running out of time.

Asura sat opposite me in the dim torchlight of the barracks, the smell of well-worn leather and cold steel in the air. She had one leg folded under the other, spinning her dagger between her fingers with absentminded ease. She wasn't facing me , but she was listening.

She always listened.

I exhaled slowly. "He gave us a number, not a name, Rodric.

A flicker of recognition passed across her face, but she didn't interrupt.

I leaned forward. "If there's a pattern, Aldric wasn't just some random target. We have to see who came before him."

Her blade froze between her fingers. "And the ones who're going to come next."

She didn't ask it like a question. She already knew.

I ran a hand over my face. "Then we must return to the records."

Her face didn't alter, but I knew precisely what she was thinking.

The last time we'd attempted to get into the knight order's official records, we'd been met with polite refusal and quiet warnings. There were some things that were not meant to be read.

This time, we weren't asking.

...

The knight archives were located in the fortress's eastern wing, past the main halls where recruits were generally considered unwelcome. It was a place for history, not for the living.

Which made it a perfect place for the forgotten.

Asura walked next to me, her cloak drawn tightly around her shoulders, her paces measured. We weren't sneaking. We weren't hiding.

We were just strolling like we owned the place.

And no one stopped us.

The archives smelled of dust and ink, parchment curling at the corners with age, candlelight flickering against stone walls. Shelves rose high, burdened with the weight of centuries.

But some things did not age.

Some things were erased.

We came to the records of the knight order's history, the official accounts of every knight who had ever served. Names inscribed in careful script, deeds recorded in ink.

Aldric should have been on here.

But it wasn't.

Asura didn't react. She simply turned the pages.

The book had names jotted inside, but the names were not complete — long stretches of white space where black ink should have been.

She ran a gloved finger along the page. "They're careful."

I swallowed. "Too careful."

I looked at the older records — the ones that had not been hacked.

Then I saw it.

Not a name. Not a record.

Just a number.

The same number Rodric had done with us.

My breath caught.

The ink was old, blurred at the edges. But the meaning was clear.

That number had been inscribed there.

And then erased.

Asura's gaze flickered to me. "Someone wanted this to be forgotten."

I nodded slowly. "But they left behind the ghost of it."

She traced her fingers across the parchment.

Then—a whisper.

Not hers.

Not mine.

Something else.

A soft, breathless huff, curling in and out of the candlelight and the dust, anything that didn't belong there.

The torches flickered. The room, felt heavier; the air pressing down — not stifling, but the air was watching.

I turned my head slowly.

Nothing.

But Asura's stance had shifted — just a little, just enough. She had heard it too.

We weren't alone.

We had never been alone.

....

We did not speak as we left the archives.

The corridor was vacant, but the silence lingered long. We didn't look back.

Not until we passed into the outer halls, where the air was lighter.

Only then did Asura speak.

"Someone doesn't want us asking questions here."

I exhaled. "We already knew that."

She turned to me fully. "No. Not just the knight order. Not merely the ones hiding their tracks."

Her gaze was sharp. "Something else."

I felt it too. What was in that room hadn't been human.

Not quite.

I clenched my fists. "Then we're getting to something."

She gave a slow nod. "Close enough to be noticed."

For a moment, we stood there in silence.

Then she cocked her head a little bit. "You still believe this is about Aldric?"

I swallowed hard. "I don't know anymore."

Her lips closed, inscrutable.

Then, finally—"Good."

.....

That night, I couldn't sleep.

I lay on my cot looking up at the ceiling, the weight of everything crashing in. The whispers. The erased records. The unseen presence.

Rodric had been afraid.

The knights were afraid.

And now, I understood why.

They weren't taking people randomly.

They were being chosen.

And whatever was behind it wasn't merely trying to cover its tracks.

It ensured that no one left behind even thought to ask.

I shut my eyes and let my breathing slow down.

Sleep didn't come easily.

And when it finally did—

I dreamed of a voice.

Not a whisper. Not an echo.

Something sharp. Precise.

And it wasn't speaking to me.

It was speaking about me.

"Yet another one that shows no mercy."

The voice was calm. Steady.

But underneath it to cold disk something.

"They never learn."

My breath caught. I tried to move, tried to speak, tried to wake —

And then I was drowning.

Not in water.

In silence.

A black, infinite nothing that pressed on my chest, choked my thoughts, hollowed me from the inside out.

I gasped, bolting upright.

Darkness.

The barracks.

But I could still feel it. The burden of something I shouldn't have heard.

And for the first time, I felt it — not fear, not confusion.

Something worse.

Recognition.

Because that voice had not been human.

And it hadn't been a threat.

It had been disappointing.