Zone Seven. The syllables rattled off the soot-stained rafters. The institute klaxons had fallen silent, but the echoing urgency of the announcement still thrummed in my bones. Jalo, beside me, looked like a child seeing a ghost, his face pale, staring at the floorboards in dumb shock. Senja, however, had already hardened. She adjusted the straps on her greaves, calculating. She didn’t look at me, but I felt the shift in her presence, the way she pulled herself tighter, preparing for something. I knew that posture. It was the one I’d worn countless times before the Valta’s maw. “Zone Seven is unstable,” I murmured, more to myself than to them, but Jalo flinched. “It’s a newly opened section. Highly volatile.” “I know what Zone Seven is, porter,” Senja snapped, her voice sharp as an unblunted blade. “That’s why we’re going in. To secure it. Or at least, to find out what happened to Solas.” “‘We’?” I asked, a sliver of genuine surprise piercing through my customary detachment. “As in, us? A low-rank team and a glorified pack mule?” Her eyes finally cut to me, glittering with a cold fire. “Instructor Kaino just gave the order. All available scouts, even trainees, form search-and-recovery parties. We’re to assist the Vanguard teams in establishing a perimeter and locating Team Solas. He specifically said, ‘Vaara, your luck might finally be useful’.” A sneer stretched her lips. “Don’t get ideas. You’re still just cargo transport, but at least this time, the cargo might be live.” My gut twisted. Luck. Kaino had seen something. And the Shard of Absence was hunting me. Being thrown into an unstable sector with Jalo was the exact opposite of lying low. This hauled me straight into the breach. I wanted to scream, to lash out at the universe for its ceaseless mockery. Instead, I just grunted, hefting my empty pack. “Fine. Let’s go collect some Echoes of failure.” The air in Sector 7 was thick with the scent of ozone and decay, a metallic tang that made the hair on my arms rise. The tunnel stretched endlessly, its obsidian walls weeping faint, phosphorescent runic script that flared with sickly light. Jagged spires of raw glass jutted from the floor, catching the lumen-orbs and throwing skewed shadows. It was a recent breach; the dungeon's calcified growth had yet to take hold, leaving bare slate and raw, unformed mana pockets. Our squad, hastily assembled from our trio plus two other trainees, pressed forward. Muffled murmurs began almost immediately, drifting from the seam lines in the rock. Residual scrapings of absorbed memories always drifted through the rock, but here they rasped like dry husks. “Stay close, keep your light focused,” Senja commanded, her voice tight, but steady. She moved with an almost primal grace, her Echo-forged longsword a silver blur in her grip. Jalo, despite his fear, mirrored her, his scythe held ready, the rough-hewn blade a stark contrast to Senja's refined weapon. He was good, I noted reluctantly. Instinctive, powerful. Too powerful, for his own good. We found them by a cluster of twisted, root-like formations that throbbed with pale violet sheen. Four figures, or what remained of them. They were draped over the fungal growths, their bodies shrunken, hollowed shells of flesh and bone. Their Echo-armor, once gleaming, was pitted and dull, their weapons scattered nearby. There was no blood, no struggle. Just… emptiness. Senja let out a sharp gasp, her sword lowering slightly. Even the other trainees recoiled. No beast tore clean meat like this. The energy within them, their very life force, had been meticulously drained. “What… what did this?” Jalo stammered. He knelt beside one of the husks, his brow furrowed with a naive horror. No wild stray made wounds like that. This was a targeted, almost surgical extraction. And then I saw it, glinting faintly in the dead scout's stiffened grip. It was a small, perfectly spherical mineral bead, about the size of a pigeon’s egg, leaking a dull blue glare. I recognized it. The Murmuring Core. A rare and dangerous Echo, rumored to hold the final thoughts, the last conscious moments, of whatever life force it consumed. “Don’t touch it, Jalo!” I barked, a little too late. His fingers had already brushed the cold surface of the sphere. A harsh static snap cracked down the tunnel. The blue flare flared bright, washing over the desiccated bodies and our frozen faces. The murmurs sharpened, resolving into distinct voices, the final Echoes of Team Solas. We heard a man’s frantic breathing, the clang of metal, and then a woman’s desperate plea. “Arik… why? The First Blade… it’s not worth this!” Another voice, calm and chillingly familiar to those in the institute, cut in. “Foolish girl. This blade will rewrite history. Your petty lives are a small price.” A choked cry. The sound of something heavy falling. Then, the sickening, wet siphoning noise that had drained their essence. A final, gurgling gasp. And then… silence. The bead dimmed, its sheen fading to a faint smudge. The chamber went quiet save for our ragged breathing. Betrayal. Not a monster, not an accident, but one of their own. Arik. A name known in hushed tones amongst the Kivi Institute’s elite. A vanguard tracker, rumored to obsess over relics like the First Blade. He was also, by all accounts, a member of Team Solas. He hadn’t been missing. He had been the predator. My carefully constructed apathy shattered like cheap glass. This wasn't just about Jalo's fated death. This was about the rot, the insidious human greed I’d ignored in my past life, dismissing it as background noise. The Labyrinth was a threat, yes, but humanity, with its endless hunger for power and prestige, was an active, unpredictable poison. I had focused on the grand, cosmic threat of Jalo’s destiny, but the smaller, more mundane evils were just as capable of unraveling everything. This wasn't just about surviving anymore. It was about purging this infection, actively fighting the corrupting influence that threatened to consume not just Jalo, but the entire world. My goal had shifted. From passive survival to active intervention. Senja stared at the husks, her face devoid of color, her sword forgotten in her grip. Jalo sagged against the rock, his face a mask of sickened disbelief. The two academy rookies exchanged sick glances. The revelation was a gut punch to us all. And then, a new chill descended. It wasn't the cold of the Labyrinth, but something far more alien. A high, brittle ring cut through the stale air. At the far end of the tunnel, where the runes pooled thickest, reality warped. Shards of light and shadow twisted, swirling inward, until they formed a familiar, faceless figure. The Shard of Absence. It was here. It had found me again. But this time, it didn't move. It didn’t advance towards me with its usual chilling intent. Instead, its crystalline form seemed to hum with immense, focused power. One of its jagged arms, which resembled a spear of pure starlight, lifted slowly, deliberately, and gestured. Not at me, but at the very walls of the cavern. A low groan, deeper than thunder, vibrated through the rock under our feet. Cracks, like spiderwebs of pure force, erupted across the obsidian walls. The painted runes flared violently, then began to shift, to flow. The entire chamber started to churn, rock grinding against rock. The exit, a narrow archway we had just passed through, began to shrink, the walls closing in, forming a solid, impassable barrier. As the stone split the chamber in two, the entity held its pose. It was sealing us in, but not all of us. The wall of solid rock surged upward, separating me and Jalo from Senja and the rest of the team.

The Whispering Gallery