"Every silence holds a song waiting to be heard."
---
They say the world changed with a single breath.
No great thunder, no flash of fire. Just a breath—a soft, invisible ripple that stirred through the realms like a forgotten whisper. Most people didn't feel it. They were too busy praying to their own gods or feeding their cattle or kissing someone they shouldn't. But I felt it.
I felt it in my bones, like the moment before a song begins.
It was early morning when it came. The sun hadn't risen yet, and the forest behind our cottage still held the hush of night. I was crouched by the stream, my fingertips skimming the surface, watching how the water danced even when the world didn't ask it to. That's when it hit me.
The wind stopped.
Not slowed—stopped.
The birds froze mid-song. The breeze that had been rustling the leaves went still. Even the stream paused for a breathless second, as if listening to something I could not yet hear.
And then I felt it—deep and low, like the hum of a string pulled taut across the sky.
It wasn't music.
Not yet.
But it was coming.
---
By the time I returned to the cottage, the air had shifted. My aunt—who rarely rose before daylight unless the goats screamed—was already stoking the hearth, her brows drawn low and her mouth a line of worry.
"You feel it too," I said.
She didn't answer. Just nodded once, slow and tired, like she'd known this day would come and had prayed it never would.
She turned from the fire and placed something in my hands.
It was a scroll.
Old. Faded. Bound in silver thread that pulsed faintly like a heartbeat. I didn't ask how she got it. My aunt had her ways, and I'd learned young not to question the things she buried in locked drawers or whispered about when the moon was red.
"What is it?" I asked, though my hands were already trembling.
She looked at me, her eyes sharp and glinting like frost on steel.
> "It's a song, Lyra. One only the right voice can awaken."
---
The scroll felt like a living thing in my hands—its weight heavier than any parchment should have been, its texture like something ancient, a relic from a time that didn't belong to us anymore. As I unraveled it, the air around me seemed to tighten, the silence stretching thin.
The writing was delicate, looping in silver threads that shimmered under the faint light coming through the window. The script looked almost like music, with swirling symbols that danced in a rhythm I couldn't understand. Yet as I studied them, the rhythm began to pulse inside my chest.
My aunt didn't speak, but her gaze was firm on me, as if she was watching to see if I would make the same mistake others had made.
The scroll's edge vibrated slightly, and the symbols... they shifted. They rearranged themselves into words I could understand:
> "When the one with the song of stars awakens,
The kingdom shall rise again.
The voice of truth will bring light to the dark.
The wrong voice will shatter the world."
I stared at the words as if they had been written in flames, the fire of their meaning licking at my soul.
The one with the song of stars. I didn't know what that meant, but somehow, I did. The words felt familiar, like the echo of a dream half-remembered, like something whispered when I was too young to listen.
A strange pressure built in my chest, as if the words were pulling me in, forcing me to accept something I wasn't sure I was ready to face.
My aunt's voice was low, soft—tinged with an emotion I couldn't place.
"You heard it, didn't you? The song."
I nodded, though I hadn't actually heard anything. Not yet. But in my heart, I knew it was there. A sound—a presence—waiting to come alive.
"This is the scroll of the Prophecy," my aunt continued. "It's been passed down through generations of our family, waiting for the right voice. The one destined to break the silence."
"Break the silence?" I asked. My voice came out ragged, as if it had been waiting to speak too.
"The kingdom's been asleep for a hundred years, Lyra. Aeloria—a kingdom ruled by music, by voices. And the prophecy was hidden, buried, waiting for the right moment to be found. You were born with a gift—a voice that can awaken it. You just don't know what that means yet."
I swallowed hard, the weight of her words settling into my bones.
"But I'm not special," I whispered, looking down at the scroll, my fingers tracing the edges of the delicate paper. "I'm just... me."
My aunt's laugh was bitter and heavy, like wind through a cracked window. "You're more than you know, Lyra. It's why they came for you."
"Who?" I turned to her, fear and curiosity battling inside me.
Her eyes darkened. "The ones who will come for you. Those who understand the prophecy better than we do."
I closed the scroll, the pulse of the words inside it not quite fading.
---
It was almost time for the festival—the grand event that would bring the kingdom together for the first time since the dark silence began. And it wasn't just any festival. The Queen herself would be there, the ruler of all the lands, hosting the contest for the greatest voice in all of Aracel. But there was more to it than just the festival.
I didn't know why, but I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. The festival would be my last chance to refuse—to turn away, to pretend none of this was real.
But a part of me knew better.
---
The festival grounds were crowded when we arrived, the colors bright against the crisp morning air. My aunt and I pushed through the mass of people, my hand gripping hers as we made our way toward the square, where the crowds were thickest. Everywhere I looked, there was something magical—floating lanterns, shimmering fountains, and performers twirling in impossible patterns.
But even as the magic surrounded us, I felt the cold. Something was waiting.
The grand stage loomed ahead, set up on the far side of the square. Tall banners fluttered in the breeze, marking the beginning of the trials. The air crackled with power, the kind of energy that only the most powerful sorcerers could summon.
I glanced around and noticed the first group of girls who had arrived for the competition—some of them already gathering in clusters, their eyes sharp and calculating. Many were from noble families. Others, like me, were uninvited. But they were all here for one thing: to prove themselves worthy of the crown.
And I? I had no idea what I was doing here. I was nothing like them.
My aunt's hand tightened around mine as we neared the edge of the crowd.
"Don't forget the prophecy," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
I nodded, though I wasn't sure I could ever forget it now. The words were etched into my soul.
---
The moment I stepped onto the grounds, everything around me seemed to grow louder. The chatter of the crowd. The distant clink of metal. The rustle of fabric as the noblewomen adjusted their gowns.
But it was the air that struck me the most—heavy, thick with anticipation, like a storm waiting to break. And I could feel it inside me. The pressure. The calling.
The song.
The crowd parted as we neared the main stage, and I realized the Queen was already there—seated in a throne made of silver and obsidian, a crown gleaming on her head like the eye of a star.
Her eyes locked with mine for a brief moment, and I felt it. A spark. A connection. She knew something I didn't. And the realization that I had already been noticed sent a cold thrill down my spine.
The closer I got to the stage, the more I felt like I was walking into a dream—a dream that wasn't my own, a dream that belonged to something much larger. The crowd parted for me as if they already knew who I was supposed to be, and it unsettled me, this sense of knowing that I didn't have.
My feet felt heavy with every step, yet my heart beat faster as I crossed the threshold of the stage's entrance. The sunlight seemed brighter here, the air tinged with a strange, electric sweetness, as though something ancient was waking from a long, quiet slumber.
The Queen's eyes remained fixed on me, though her face was inscrutable. She was regal in a way that made the very earth beneath her seem to bend, her presence commanding. I had always imagined her as a distant figure, a fairy-tale queen with endless grace, but standing in front of her now, I realized she was more than just royalty. She was a force—a power that could shatter the world if it chose to.
I kept my eyes down, my breath shallow.
As my aunt and I were ushered to a row of chairs just outside the stage, I noticed the other contestants for the first time. They were a mix of nobles and outsiders like me, though they certainly didn't look like me. The noblewomen wore elaborate dresses, layers of fine fabrics stitched with magical threads that glimmered in the sunlight. Their jewelry sparkled, casting glints of light that made it hard to focus on anything else.
Then there were the others—girls from various villages, perhaps more like me. But even they carried an air of power, whether it was in their posture, their gaze, or the aura that seemed to hum around them. It was as if the very land recognized them as something more than ordinary.
I felt… invisible. Like a shadow walking through a world of light.
"Lyra." A voice broke through my spiraling thoughts.
I looked up to see one of the girls standing before me—tall, with long black hair that flowed like silk. Her green eyes studied me with an intensity that made me uneasy.
"You're the one from the Solen village, aren't you?" she asked, her voice polite, but there was something calculated in her tone.
I nodded. "Yes."
"I heard you were a late addition," she said, stepping closer. "That's interesting. Must be nice to have someone powerful looking out for you."
I felt my throat tighten at the implication. It wasn't that I thought I was special, but it made me uneasy, how quickly she was drawing conclusions about me without even knowing who I was.
"I don't have anyone," I said softly, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them.
The girl's lips twitched slightly, almost in amusement. "I'm sure you don't." She paused, her eyes flicking over me one more time, as if deciding if I was worth further attention. "Well, it doesn't matter. We'll see who has the true voice, won't we?"
She turned and walked away, her long dress sweeping behind her like a shadow.
I exhaled slowly, my hands gripping the seat beneath me as I tried to ignore the growing weight in my chest. It wasn't just the contest I was afraid of; it was what lay beyond it. The prophecy. The strange, ancient words I couldn't escape.
The one with the song of stars.
I glanced up at the Queen again. Her gaze was now turned toward the stage, her eyes unreadable as she surveyed the gathering.
A trumpet blared, echoing through the square and shaking me from my thoughts. The entire crowd shifted, attention focused on the platform.
A herald stepped forward, his voice ringing out clear and loud.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, the time has come. The Trials of Voice begin. The fate of our kingdom rests in your hands."
His words hung in the air like smoke, twisting and curling around us, seeping into our skin, our souls. The tension was palpable now, thick as an impending storm.
I stood, despite the trembling in my legs, despite the whirlwind of emotions twisting inside me. My aunt squeezed my shoulder once, a silent reassurance. Then, without another word, she was gone—lost in the crowd as she moved to the side, where the other spectators gathered.
And I was left standing on the edge of the stage.
The first contestant, a noblewoman with a cascade of golden curls, stepped forward. Her name was Seraphina, I remembered. She had the poise of someone who had been born into greatness—her shoulders back, her chin lifted, eyes shining with the kind of confidence I could only envy.
The judges, all seated around the stage, nodded in approval. They were silent, their faces hidden beneath veils of gold. They didn't need to speak. Their silence was a command.
Seraphina raised her hands as though she were preparing to summon something. The crowd hushed, and I swear, I could feel the air tremble around us.
And then—she sang.
Her voice was unlike anything I had ever heard. Pure, clear, and filled with an authority that seemed to wrap the entire square in a blanket of power. She had control of every note, every breath. It was flawless. Beautiful.
I didn't need to hear more to know she was one of the favorites.
The applause was deafening when she finished, the sound of the crowd echoing through the air like thunder. The judges nodded to one another, and I could see their approval in their eyes. Seraphina bowed gracefully, her lips curving into a smile that was both proud and humble, as though she knew the outcome already.
But I couldn't stop thinking about the words from the scroll.
The wrong voice will shatter the world.
What if her voice wasn't the right one? What if none of us were?
---
As the other contestants took their turns, each voice was louder, more powerful than the last. Some sang with the weight of their kingdoms behind them, others with the desperation of those who had nothing to lose. It was a spectacle—a performance—but for me, it was a strange kind of terror.
Because I knew what was coming. I could feel it in my bones, and it wasn't just the competition. It was the prophecy.
I had to go next.
---
The herald's voice broke through my thoughts once again.
"Lyra Solen."
I froze.
The crowd turned, eyes boring into me. The world narrowed to a point, and all I could hear was my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.
It was my turn.