Sweat rolled down Hannah's collarbone, soaking her cotton t-shirt as she hauled another heavy cardboard box from the back of the moving truck. Liyue Harbor was beautiful, but its vibrant energy felt like an assault on her senses. Nestled between towering stone cliffs and a glittering, deep-blue sea, the city was a maze of ancient tiled roofs, steep staircases, and bustling modern commerce. Hannah forced herself to carry the box up the steep stone steps leading to their new home. Red paper lanterns hung from the eaves of neighboring houses, swaying gently in the warm, salt-tinged breeze that blew off the ocean. Earlier that morning, her mother had practically shoved her out the front door, handing her a woven basket and a handful of local currency. Martha had pleaded with her, her eyes shining with that desperate, fragile hope that Hannah hated. "Go buy some fresh glaze lilies for the dining table, Hannah. It'll do you good to see the sun." Cobblestones polished smooth by centuries of footsteps had felt uneven beneath her sneakers as she walked down the hill. Ships creaked against the wooden docks in the distance, their massive sails fluttering in the wind. Crowds of tourists and locals pressed against one another, their laughter and chatter creating a wall of noise that made her ears ring. Nausea had gripped her almost instantly. Every sudden movement made her flinch, and the overwhelming scent of dried herbs, fish, and roasting meats made her dizzy. She had dropped the basket in the middle of a crowded plaza, watching the small container get crushed under the foot of a passing merchant. Turning on her heel, she had bolted back up the hill, her chest burning as she inhaled the thick, humid air. Running back to the quiet cul-de-sac was her only option. Now, standing inside the towering entryway of the four-bedroom house, she felt a small measure of safety, though the guilt of her failure tasted like ash in her mouth. --- Martha waved a manicured hand from the living room, surrounded by half-unpacked crates. She didn't ask about the flowers, choosing instead to offer a bright, plastic smile. "Put that one near the kitchen, sweetie. Your father is still trying to figure out where the water shut-off valve is." David, her father, let out a loud groan from somewhere deep in the crawlspace under the stairs. He was trying too hard, as always, his laughter sounding hollow and forced whenever he tried to break the heavy tension that had settled over their family. They were all pretending. Hannah knew exactly what they were doing. They had bought this massive, expensive house in Liyue hoping the distance would cure her. They wanted her to leave her grief back in their old city, buried under the wreckage of what they had lost. David had tried to make her new bedroom look familiar. He had unpacked her favorite books, placing them on the built-in shelves, and hung her old landscape paintings on the walls. But the room felt like a stage set. It was a mockery of her old life, a life that had ended the moment her brother's hand slipped beneath the dark water. She could still feel the cold water on her skin, even though she had never jumped in. Her mind played the scene on a loop. If she had just been faster, if she hadn't let fear paralyze her, if she had been the strong older sister she was supposed to be, he would still be here. Two years of silence had followed. Two years of waking up soaking in sweat, her throat raw from silent screams, her chest aching with the phantom weight of a guilt that would never leave her. This massive house, with its high ceilings and empty rooms, was supposed to be a sanctuary, but to Hannah, it just felt like a larger cage. Walking up the grand wooden staircase, she ran her fingers along the polished banister. The wood was cold under her touch, despite the afternoon heat radiating through the windows. Her bedroom on the second floor was already partially set up, but she couldn't bring herself to sit in it. The large windows looked out over the bustling harbor, a constant reminder of the life she was refusing to participate in. Instead of entering her room, she walked to the very end of the hallway, where a small pull-cord hung from a hatch in the ceiling. --- A cold draft of air seeped through the cracks of the wooden panel, carrying the scent of dry rot and ancient paper. Reaching up, she grabbed the rough rope and pulled. Dust rained down on her face as the wooden attic stairs folded down with a loud, protesting creak. Step by step, the wooden ladder groaned under her weight, each creak sounding like a gunshot in the quiet house. She kept her eyes upward, focused on the dark square of the hatch. As her hands gripped the dusty edges of the opening, she hoisted herself up. The floorboards here were rough and splintered, catching on the fabric of her jeans. Cold air brushed against her bare arms, raising goosebumps. The attic was massive, stretching across the entire span of the house, smelling of dust, centuries-old cedar, and trapped air. Sighing, she pulled her phone from her pocket and turned on the flashlight. White light cut through the gloom, illuminating a graveyard of discarded memories left behind by the previous owners. Stacks of yellowed newspapers, old steamer trunks, and furniture covered in dusty white sheets lay scattered across the floorboards. Stacks of cardboard boxes were piled high against the brick chimney. One large trunk caught her attention, its brass locks green with corrosion. She ran a finger through the thick layer of dust on its lid, revealing faded red Chinese characters painted on the dark wood. Faded black-and-white photographs lay scattered near the base of the trunk, showing a stern-looking family from a bygone era. None of them were smiling. These people were gone, their lives reduced to forgotten junk in a dark room. Hannah felt a strange sense of kinship with them. Sitting down on an upturned wooden crate, she pulled her knees to her chest and stared into the dark. Silence was a physical presence up here, wrapping around her like a heavy blanket, a welcome relief from the constant hum of the city below. Minutes stretched into an hour as she sat in the dark, watching the dust motes drift through the beam of her phone's flashlight. A strange, rhythmic vibration suddenly hummed through the wooden floorboards beneath her feet. It wasn't the frantic clawing of an animal, but rather a steady, deliberate tapping. Like fingernails clicking against metal. Hannah held her breath, her eyes darting toward the dark corners of the attic. Static hissed through the darkness, sharp and sudden, shattering the quiet. Slowly, she stood up, her muscles tensing. Fear, cold and sharp, coiled in her stomach. The static wasn't a natural house sound. It was electronic, a white-noise hiss that rose and fell in a sickening, erratic rhythm. Behind a stack of old cardboard boxes in the far corner, a faint amber light flickered against the dusty floorboards. An antique walkie-talkie sat on a small wooden shelf wedged into the eaves. This walkie-talkie looked like a relic from a war that never happened. The dial on the front was marked with strange, faded symbols instead of numbers, and its metal casing was a chipped olive green, rusted around the edges. She could hear the faint sound of wind blowing through the speaker, but not the wind of Liyue. This wind sounded cold, hollow, and impossibly distant, whistling through narrow stone corridors. No batteries were in the exposed compartment on the back. Yet, a low hum vibrated from the speaker, the amber light pulsing in time with the crackling static. Crackling static filled the small space, growing louder and more frantic, scratching at her eardrums. Hannah reached out, her hand trembling. She should run. She should go downstairs, call her father, and tell him there was some weird old electronics up here. A sharp burst of static hissed from the speaker. She dropped her phone in fright, the flashlight rolling across the floorboards and casting long, distorted shadows up the brick chimney. In the dim, reflected light, she watched the walkie-talkie dial pulse with a violent, angry amber glow. A faint, trembling whimper emerged from the speaker. It was a child's voice. Hannah's heart stopped, her breath catching in her throat. The whimper coalesces into a chilling, desperate plea: 'Help me... he's coming!'

Whispers in the Liyue Dust