Chapter 58 – Voice Beneath the Throne

The chamber thrummed with ancient resonance.

That throne of masks loomed ahead, its surface stitched with faces — some human, some beastly, some grotesquely in between. Each mask was cracked, as if its previous owner had either screamed through it or died with it still on.

Rael stood before it, hands at his side, his heart beating slow and heavy under the weight of the Third Brand. The voice had asked for a piece of his soul.

But what did that mean?

Behind him, Yue circled warily, blade glowing faintly with silvery light, her eyes scanning the murals and carvings that lit up under the soft firelight. Her expression was unreadable.

The voice returned.

"You carry the Brand but walk without a master. You wield its curse without the sanction of the Silent."

Rael raised his chin. "I didn't ask for it. But I carry it still."

The chamber responded—not with words, but with pressure. A heavy, suffocating silence that thickened the air and weighed down the body like a mountain resting on the shoulders. Rael felt his knees tremble.

From the darkness behind the throne, something stirred.

A figure emerged.

He was not tall, nor clad in robes of power. Instead, he wore plain black garb, threadbare and faded. A single bone mask covered the left side of his face, cracked along the cheek. His presence didn't radiate Qi or killing intent.

But somehow, Rael's instincts screamed.

The figure stopped beside the throne, resting one hand on the armrest made of fragmented masks.

"You are no disciple," he said calmly, voice clearer than the whisper before. "And yet the Brand obeys you."

Rael met his gaze. "I didn't come here to kneel. I came for answers."

The man's eyes lingered on him. "Then you will pay the price."

He raised his hand.

The ground split open beneath Rael's feet, and the world turned to shadow.

---

When he landed, it wasn't hard stone that greeted him—but memories.

Rael blinked.

He stood in a familiar alley, soaked in rain. Broken wooden crates lay scattered near the wall. A flickering lamplight illuminated the silhouette of a boy—himself, younger, bloodied, barefoot, with a rusted knife in his hand.

"No…" Rael muttered.

He turned—and saw the three corpses.

Men. Thieves. Or worse. The ones who had cornered him that night. The ones he had killed with desperate hands and a desperate will.

He watched as his younger self fell to his knees, vomiting, sobbing—not because of guilt, but because the adrenaline had finally worn off.

A voice whispered at his back.

"You kill to survive. But each death stains you."

He turned and saw no one.

Another scene blinked into existence.

A corpse of a beast—its body twisted, neck snapped, tongue lolling out. Rael stood over it with a makeshift spear, blood soaking his arms. His breath came in gasps, but there was no triumph in his eyes. Only calculation. Survival. Cold clarity.

The voice returned.

"You claim no joy in killing. But you learn from each one. And the Brand learns with you."

Then the scene shifted again.

And this time, he saw Yue—her back to him, fighting alone, surrounded by spectral shadows wearing the same broken masks as the throne. Her blade shimmered with Lunar Qi, but her eyes were filled with doubt.

Rael took a step forward, but the memory wouldn't let him intervene.

The scene fractured.

And the masked man's voice echoed through the void.

"The Brand does not serve the weak. It devours those who do not accept their own darkness."

"So tell me, boy. What will you offer?"

The shadows began closing in. A thousand faces. All ones he had killed—bandits, beasts, warriors, and more. Their gazes were hollow. Accusing. Hungry.

Rael felt the pressure again—this time not physical, but emotional. Guilt. Regret. Pain. Rage.

His knees buckled.

But he did not fall.

Instead, he closed his eyes.

And whispered, "I offer what I always have."

He opened them again.

His voice was quiet. Unshaken.

"Myself."

---

A sound like shattering glass echoed through the chamber.

Reality snapped back together.

Rael gasped and stumbled forward, knees hitting the cold stone floor. Blood dripped from his nose, and his eyes were glassy with remnants of the illusion.

But he was awake.

Alive.

The masked man hadn't moved.

He looked down at Rael with something between approval and sorrow.

"You survived the Brand's test," he said. "You've sacrificed pieces of yourself again and again. And still… you retain your will."

Rael rose slowly.

"I don't want its power," he said, hoarse. "But I'll use it to carve my path."

The man turned his back and returned to the throne.

"There are many who come seeking strength. Very few seek burden. You are of the second kind."

Rael narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"

The man sat on the throne of masks.

"I am what remains of the last voice of the Silent Sect," he said. "We were once guardians of death… not slayers, but those who remembered the cost. Now, we are remnants. Bones in the wind."

Yue stepped forward. "And those masked assassins who hunt the Brands? Are they yours?"

The man's eyes sharpened. "No. They are the Split Silence—traitors who believe the Brands are meant to rule others. They twist our legacy."

Rael clenched his fist. "They're still hunting. Still killing."

"And they will continue to," the masked man said. "Unless someone stronger ends them."

He gestured to the path ahead, where a tunnel of obsidian opened into lightless distance.

"Follow the path of the Deadwind Crypt. There you will find what they seek—the Fourth Brand. But know this, Rael. If you claim it, you will lose something you cannot get back."

Rael turned his gaze to the tunnel.

Behind him, Yue watched with a subtle furrow of her brow.

He took a breath.

And stepped forward.