Voiceless Shadows

Chapter 6: Voiceless Shadows

The snowflakes hung suspended in the air, frozen in their descent like tiny crystalline sculptures. No breeze disturbed them. No birdsong penetrated the oppressive silence. The Silentstorm had descended upon the pine forest with the stealth of a predator, muffling all sound beneath its invisible weight.

Alden's boots crunched against the snow, yet produced no noise. The sensation was deeply unsettling—movement without acoustical consequence. His glass eye had fogged over, rendering the left side of his vision a milky blur. He wiped at it with a sleeve, feeling the unnaturally smooth surface beneath the fabric.

Ten paces ahead, Liora moved with the grace of someone accustomed to silence. Her crystallized fingertips occasionally brushed against the bark of pine trees as she passed, leaving faint glittering marks but producing no sound. When she turned back to face him, her expression conveyed what her voice could not.

Her hands lifted, forming shapes that Alden recognized from their hasty lessons in signing.

*We need shelter. Now.*

Alden's own hands, trembling slightly from the White Chord coursing through his system, responded clumsily.

*Rotstorm's close.*

He tapped his glass eye for emphasis. The fog within it swirled in spiraling patterns that had nothing to do with temperature. The Eclipse's influence was growing stronger.

Liora nodded, her face grim in the diffuse light filtering through the pines. Snowflakes clung to her eyelashes and the dark curls that escaped her hood. She pointed ahead to where the forest thickened, suggesting deeper cover.

The only sound Alden could perceive was the thudding of his own heartbeat, amplified to a thunderous roar in the absence of all other noise. The air carried a metallic taste, like licking copper wire—another sign of the Silentstorm's intensity.

He flexed his right hand, alarmed at how his fingers refused to bend completely. The White Chord's calcification was accelerating. Blue veins stood out sharply against his pale skin, hardening beneath the surface like rivers freezing in winter. Soon, he would struggle to grip his dagger, let alone defend himself if they encountered the Hollowed.

As they pressed deeper into the silent forest, Alden noticed something disturbing. The shadows cast by the trees weren't falling as they should. Instead, they twisted into spiral patterns upon the snow, coiling and uncoiling like living things. The Eclipse's influence was growing bolder, leaving its mark upon the physical world.

---

From his vantage point on the ridge, Aidan Blackwood watched the two figures moving through the forest below. His breath didn't fog in the air—another unnatural trait of the Silentstorm. The silence suited him. In silence, one could observe more keenly.

The Shroudmark on his wrist pulsed painfully, a spiral tattoo that seemed to tighten around his flesh like a noose. It always intensified when Renshaw was near. The alchemist was the architect of this suffering, whether he acknowledged it or not.

Aidan's fingers absently traced the stock of his crossbow as he contemplated the shot. At this distance, even with his enhanced perception courtesy of the Shroudmark, hitting a moving target through the trees would be challenging.

But patience had always been his virtue. The Eclipse had shown him visions of Renshaw's eventual capture. The timing needed to be perfect.

He drew his journal from inside his coat and made a notation with a stub of pencil:

*Renshaw's corruption progressing rapidly. Left eye fully transformed. Walking with female companion—possibly the surgeon from reports. Moving northwest toward the abandoned logging camp.*

The Shroudmark throbbed again, sending a spike of pain up his arm. Aidan grimaced, returning the journal to his pocket. The mark was eager for confrontation, but the hunter knew better than to rush. First, he needed to understand his quarry's destination.

The surgeon was an unexpected complication. Intelligence from the Artificers suggested she possessed unusual resistance to Rotstorm effects. A potential asset, if she could be separated from Renshaw's corrupting influence.

Aidan shifted his position, keeping the pair in view as they disappeared into a denser section of forest. He would follow at a distance. The Silentstorm would conceal his movements as effectively as it concealed theirs.

---

Liora stopped so abruptly that Alden nearly collided with her back. She pointed to a massive pine tree ahead, its trunk swollen to twice the normal girth. At first glance, it appeared unremarkable among its fellows, but as they approached, Alden noticed the subtle seam running vertically along one side.

A hiding place.

Liora pressed her partially crystallized hand against the bark, pushing firmly until a section swung inward like a door. The hollow interior was large enough for both of them to stand inside, though barely. Previous occupants had left behind their secrets.

A cache of supplies lined the inner walls: vials of Grey Chord with their distinctive smoky contents, rusted weapons that had seen better days, and most interestingly, a leather-bound journal wedged between sections of bark.

Alden's fingers moved without conscious thought, pocketing two vials of Grey Chord while Liora's attention was focused on the journal. The temptation to inject immediately burned through him, but survival instinct prevailed. The Grey Chord was best saved for absolute necessity—when memories became too painful to bear.

Liora leafed through the journal, her eyes widening at its contents. When she looked up, her hands shaped words with urgent precision.

*The Eclipse speaks through the Veil's cracks. It has agents everywhere. Even children.*

She turned the journal so Alden could see the final entry. The handwriting deteriorated from neat script to jagged lines that tore through the page:

*THEY SING FOR IT. THE CHOIR SINGS AND THE VEIL BLEEDS AND THE ECLIPSE WATCHES.*

The pages crumbled like ash between Liora's fingers, disintegrating at her touch. The Grey Chord in Alden's pocket hummed with faint vibration, responding to the journal's destruction as if the two shared some connection.

Alden's hands formed a response.

*This is madness.*

Liora's eyes hardened, her fingers moving with decisive sharpness.

*It's survival.*

She echoed his earlier sentiment with irony not lost on him. The hollow tree suddenly felt confining, the walls too close. Alden was about to suggest they continue moving when Liora tensed, her attention caught by something outside.

She pressed her eye to a small knothole in the trunk. After a moment, she gestured for Alden to look.

Through the narrow aperture, he observed riders emerging from the silent forest. Artificers on horseback, their black leather armor decorated with brass insignia of the Citadel. At their head rode a familiar figure—Crespo, his weathered face betraying no emotion as he scanned the forest floor.

Likely tracking their footprints in the snow. Discovery seemed inevitable.

Alden tensed, calculating their chances against six armed Artificers. Poor, even with the element of surprise. The White Chord in his system wouldn't provide enough advantage.

To his astonishment, Crespo suddenly raised his fist, halting the Artificer column. The commander dismounted, walked several paces toward their hiding place, then deliberately turned away, directing his men in the opposite direction.

The gesture was unmistakable. Crespo knew they were there and was choosing not to reveal them.

As the Artificers began to move away, Crespo reached into his coat and withdrew something small. With a casual flick, he tossed it precisely at the base of their hollow tree, then remounted his horse and followed his men.

Alden waited until the riders had disappeared back into the silent forest before cautiously pushing open the tree door. At his feet lay a smoke pellet of Artificer design—a signal used to mark locations of interest. But this one had been deliberately disabled, its firing cap removed.

When he looked up, the forest ahead was empty. Then movement caught his eye. Crespo had doubled back alone, his horse standing motionless twenty paces away. The Artificer commander made no move to approach but clearly expected them to follow. His lips formed words that, despite the Silentstorm, Alden could read perfectly:

*Follow me.*

As Crespo adjusted his glove, preparing to take up his reins again, the leather slipped. For just a moment, his wrist was exposed.

Alden's heart clenched. A spiral mark, dark against Crespo's skin. A Shroudmark.

Liora's hand gripped Alden's arm with surprising strength, her eyes questioning. He had no answers to give. The Artificer commander bore the mark of the Eclipse, yet was offering aid.

Friend or foe? Alden couldn't be certain. But in a world of Rotstorms and Hollowed, certainty was a luxury long abandoned.

He nodded to Liora, and together they stepped out of their hiding place, following the Shroudmarked Artificer deeper into the silent forest.