Voices in the Mask

The next morning, Violet didn't go to class.

She didn't log her dungeon visit. Didn't check the academy bulletin. Didn't even respond when Rhys knocked on her door.

She just sat at her desk, staring at the glowing shard in her hand.

The memory still clung to her—like soft smoke that wouldn't fade.

A child in a dungeon. A monster, not snarling but… comforting.

The shard pulsed faintly. It was warm to the touch. Not hot, not cold. But alive.

Her orb hovered nearby, flickering like a nervous bird.

"Mana signature consistent with a Type-0 relic. Estimated origin: Unknown. Estimated age: Over 2000 years."

Violet raised an eyebrow. "Type-0? I thought relics started at Type-1."

"They do," the orb replied. "This predates the system."

She leaned back, mask resting beside her notebook. "Then we're dealing with something older than recorded magic."

The orb chimed again. "And unregulated."

She closed her fingers around the shard.

"Good."

---

Later that day, Violet finally slipped outside.

The air buzzed with energy. Not magic—but tension.

A dungeon hunter squad had arrived at the academy. All black gear, gold trim, and silver blades. They were parked right outside the west gate.

Violet ducked into the alleyway behind the greenhouse. She knew who they were.

The Veil Guard.

They didn't ask questions.

They erased threats.

Even magical ones.

Especially magical ones.

---

She watched from a distance as the Guard commander, a tall man with silver armor and sharp eyes, barked orders.

"No signs of the anomaly. Just an echo left behind."

Another soldier replied, "Witnesses say it glowed red, then vanished."

"Seal the area. Nothing leaves this site—not a leaf, not a whisper."

Violet clenched her fists.

They were too late.

And they had no idea what they were standing on.

Or who they were hunting.

Because she was the anomaly.

And she wasn't done yet.

---

That evening, she sat cross-legged in her room again. Lights off. Curtains drawn. Mask on her lap. Shard in her hand.

The room felt different when she wore the mask.

Softer. Slower. Quieter.

She closed her eyes.

And listened.

At first, she heard nothing.

Just the soft hum of the orb. The wind outside. The occasional creak of the old building.

Then, slowly…

"Seeker…"

A whisper.

She held her breath.

"Seeker… are you listening?"

"I'm here," she whispered aloud.

A glow built behind her eyelids. A memory forming.

The shard pulsed.

She saw a circle of hooded figures, standing in a vast stone chamber. They wore robes of deep blue, each with a glowing symbol above their heads. The symbols weren't written—they floated.

They chanted in an old tongue.

The shard translated it in her mind.

"One voice to listen. One hand to reach. One path to walk. Let the heart choose the bearer."

One figure stepped forward. Removed her hood.

It was the masked woman from before.

Only younger. Her eyes bright.

She held the same shard.

Only it was whole then. A crystal the size of her heart.

She whispered, "Let the dungeon speak."

And it did.

A pulse of light.

A vision of monsters crying.

Not fighting. Crying.

---

Violet's eyes snapped open.

She gasped.

Sweat beaded down her forehead.

The shard had shown her the past.

And not just anyone's past.

The dungeon's.

She opened her notebook and scribbled everything down.

The chant. The image. The shape of the chamber.

She didn't know what it all meant yet, but one thing was clear:

Dungeons weren't just places.

They were memories.

Living memories.

And someone had learned to listen to them.

Long ago.

---

She closed the book and whispered, "So who erased the truth?"

The orb blinked. "Unknown. But records show a purge of Seeker-related data 147 years ago. All mentions removed from public libraries and mage archives."

"Someone didn't want us to know."

"Correct."

She looked down at the shard.

"Then I'll remember for them."

---

But far across the city…

In a dark tower wrapped in black chains…

A cloaked figure sat at a glowing table covered in runes.

On the table floated a map.

And on that map, one light blinked softly.

Violet's.

The cloaked figure leaned closer.

"She has the shard," he whispered. "Then the others will come soon."

He touched the map—and the light on Violet's location turned red.

"Prepare the mask-breakers. We hunt at dawn."

---

Violet couldn't sleep.

Not after what she'd seen.

Not after what she heard.

The whisper still echoed in her ears.

"Once you wear the mask, you never see the world the same again."

---

The next morning, before the sun rose, she packed a small satchel. No spellbooks. No scrolls. Just essentials. The shard, the mask, a piece of bread, and her father's wand.

She moved quietly through the back alleys of the academy, her cloak pulled low over her face. The Veil Guard was still around, and the last thing she needed was a patrol asking questions.

The shard pulsed from inside her bag. Soft. Rhythmic.

Like it was leading her.

---

By mid-morning, she reached the old ruins beneath the northern cliffs. No one came here. Not even scavengers. The stone was too cursed, they said. The wind too loud. The air too… heavy.

But Violet felt drawn to it.

Like something was waiting.

The orb buzzed. "Energy reading detected. Trace signature matches the shard."

Violet slipped through a crack in the stone wall, careful not to disturb the loose rocks. Inside, the ruins stretched down into the earth like the ribs of a long-dead giant. Faded paintings lined the walls—mages, monsters, symbols, stars.

At the far end stood a door.

Not locked. Not sealed.

Just… waiting.

She pressed the shard to its surface.

It clicked.

And opened.

---

Inside was a chamber filled with masks.

Hundreds of them.

Each one unique—carved from dungeon stone, painted in old colors, some broken, some whole. They lined the walls like guardians of memory.

Violet stepped forward slowly.

"Hello?" she called out.

Silence.

Then a rustle.

A figure stepped from the shadows.

Tall. Hooded. Calm.

He wore a mask shaped like a wolf's face.

"You shouldn't be here," he said.

"I was invited," Violet answered, her voice steady.

"No one is invited."

She raised the shard.

The figure froze.

Then bowed.

"So… the shard chose you."

---

More figures emerged from the darkness. A woman with a birdlike mask. A child no older than ten, his mask shaped like a moon. An old man whose mask was cracked in half.

They gathered around her like a quiet storm.

"Who are you?" Violet asked.

"We are the last," said the wolf-masked man. "The ones the world forgot."

"The Seekers," she whispered.

He nodded.

---

They led her deeper into the chamber. Past old books. Floating lights. Paintings of dungeons rising from the ground like flowers from stone.

"We were once many," the bird-masked woman said. "Now we hide. Because truth became dangerous."

"What truth?" Violet asked.

"That monsters were made," the child replied. "By mages. By kings. By greed."

"They opened dungeons not to defend," the old man said, "but to control. To grow stronger. But the dungeons fought back."

Violet felt the weight of the mask in her hands.

"They killed my parents," she said.

The wolf-masked man stepped closer.

"And they will again. Unless someone listens."

---

They gathered around a stone table.

Laid her shard in its center.

It began to glow brighter than before. It lit up the room. Lit up the other masks.

One by one, the masks began to whisper.

Not words.

But feelings.

Grief.

Loneliness.

Hope.

"I don't understand," Violet said softly.

"Not yet," the man said. "But you will."

He placed his hand on her shoulder.

"There are six shards in the world. You carry the first. When all are united, the heart will awaken. And with it—the truth."

"Where are the others?"

"Hidden. Lost. Guarded."

Violet clenched her fists. "Then I'll find them."

The man nodded. "Good."

"But how will I know where to look?"

"You won't," the bird-woman said. "But the shard will guide you."

---

As Violet turned to leave, the child stopped her.

He pressed something into her hand.

A second mask. Tiny. Worn. Moon-shaped.

"What's this?" she asked.

"A gift," he said. "For when you're afraid."

She smiled, tucked the small mask into her satchel, and stepped back out into the morning light.

---

But far away, high above the city, in a tower of black stone…

The cloaked figure watched through his rune map.

"She's found the others," he muttered.

A second voice hissed from the shadows. "Shall we end her?"

"No," the man replied. "Not yet."

He held up a broken mask of his own.

"She must see everything first."

He turned to his servant.

"Send the first mask-breaker. Let's see if her heart is strong enough to wear the truth."