Towards the Silencing

The name still lingered in my mind.

Rodric hadn't said much after he gave it to us. He hadn't needed to. The silence in the room had done the rest, sinuous and sharp, digging deep in my bones like the cold of an early frost.

We exited the barracks without a word. The night was heavy, the sky starless, as if the world itself had turned in on itself.

Asura walked a pace ahead, her stance stiff, inscrutable.

She hadn't said anything since we'd left.

I didn't press her.

Not yet.

A Trail That Shouldn't Exist

Within the knight order, there were records of every noble-born knight who served in the past hundred years.

But not this one.

We had scoured through texts for hours, followed traces of old conversations, and sifted through lists of names and ranks.

But this person didn't  exist.

Not in the knight records. Not in the fortress archives. Not in the war logs.

Nothing.

Which meant only one thing.

They had been erased.

That understanding hung in my chest like a dull weight. Whoever this was, they'd erased their presence—but not thoroughly enough.

Asura perched on the edge of a wooden table, her dagger resting in her hand, the blade dully drooping between her fingers. The silence had gone on for too long.

I leaned forward. "You recognized the name."

She didn't look at me.

Not at first.

Then—"I've heard it before."

The words were slow, careful.

I frowned. "Where?"

A long pause.

Then she exhaled out her nose. "Years ago. When I was still a child."

That caught my attention.

It is not until Asura speaks of her past.

I stayed silent, waiting.

She was finally meeting my gaze, and still tapping lightly on the hilt of her dagger. "My brother said it one time."

A chill ran through me.

Her brother. The one who had vanished. The one no one remembered.

She wasn't saying that the name sounded familiar.

She said it had to do with the first person she ever lost.

A Message Not Intended for Us

The knight order filled old stone corridors, paths going farther underground, toward the held-tight places of the fortress, those places only the knowledge of history dared go.

That is where we found the door.

Old, rusted, forgotten behind piles of unused weapon crates.

It was locked.

Of course, it was.

Asura breathed out and tilted her head. "Locked doors are only a challenge for people who aren't willing to break them."

I raised a brow. "You going to kick it down?"

A smirk. "If I must."

I hadn't yet answered her when she made her move.

Not loudly. Not forcefully. Just precisely.

She set her foot lightly against the bottom of the doorframe, gauging its weight. Then she raised the dagger in her palm, twisting it without pause as she slipped the thin blade into the lock.

A quiet click.

The door creaked open.

I blinked. "…That was scarily quick."

She shrugged. "It wasn't locked well."

I looked over at the thick rusted chains dangling from the side. "Is that what you call not locked well?"

She walked in without a word.

I sighed and followed.

The Writing on the Wall

It was a small room, just big enough for two people to stand comfortably.

The air was thick, and stale, as though it hadn't been disturbed in years.

But the walls — the walls had writing all over them.

Etched into the stone. Deep, sharp carvings, as if someone had done it with the tip of a knife.

Some of the words were in the common tongue. Others in a much older dialect, one I scarcely recognized.

But they all had a similar message.

Mercy is the only escape.

I exhaled slowly.

This was more than a secret room.

This was a shrine.

Asura touched the engravings, eyes sharp, distant.

Then—"Someone lived here."

I frowned. "What?"

She waved toward the farthest corner, where the stone had been smoothed in patches — as if someone had been sitting there, leaning against it for long hours.

She wasn't wrong.

This wasn't simply a note left behind.

This was where somebody had waited.

For what, I didn't know.

But I had a sense that we weren't going to like the answer.

The Watchers in the Dark

A sound.

Soft. Barely there.

But enough.

Asura made the first move, breaking from the wall, her stance changing — relaxed no longer, sharp, precise.

I followed her lead.

The air had changed.

Something was here.

Not a whisper. Not a shadow.

Something real.

Then, I heard it: I gripped my blade tighter. Waiting.

Then—a flicker of motion.

Too fast. Too subtle.

By the time I looked, it was gone.

There was a long silence between us.

Then, Asura exhaled. "We're not alone anymore."

My fingers tightened around my weapon. "Were we ever?"

She didn't answer.

Because we both knew the truth.

Whatever it was that was watching us had never gone away.

It had just been waiting for us to wake up to it.