and memories quavered on the edge of existence, a narrow path beckoned. It was hidden at first-almost imperceptible beneath layers of fallen leaves and moss

at pressed against her skin. Every footstep released a faint sigh, as if the earth exhaled centuries-old regrets. The faint glow of t

belied her years. She had seen many souls lost here-those who vent

n this twilight domain, the wind spoke in broken syllables-a smattering of lost words that scattered like seeds. At first, these murmurs were almost soot

times echoing in the recesses of her mind. It was a language without sound, yet one that resonated de

reature both alien and familiar in its sadness. It was neither entirely animal nor wholly spirit. Its form wavered like a half-remembered dream, composed of drifti

words that hovered like dew on the ground. Words that were not spoken by any living soul; words that belonged to those who once

lf than to the creature. Her voice was tentativ

ant wind chime, it replied: "I am the Echo of the Stolen. I am the repository of

lack stone tightened

uestion and the answer," it intoned. "I collect those words which were lost to silence, the names that t

ng souls meet their reflection in such voices. They must gather what

hich now pulsed with a soft, steady light. "Show us," s

g a secret from within its very being, it began to speak in earnest. But unlike before, the words it utt

in-a hunger for perfection, a thirst to erase the discord of recollection. In that silence, voices were taken, memories corrupted, and

breeze carried the echoes of joyful songs. Then, darker images crept in: shadows consuming voices, a relentless void swallowing the names of those who dared to re

kering images. "I... I recall a time before the ston

ht of every word uttered in hope. But the Hollow perverted its purpose. Now, it beats with the sor

im those voices," she said, her tone resolute despite the quaver in her voice. "If we journ

ace the cacophony of loss-understand that even the stolen voice holds the blueprint of what once was.

ancient symbols that sang silently of bygone eras. The forest around them was alive with the murmurs of memories; the very ground resonated with

cavern that had opened before them. "This wall..." he began, his voice hush

syllables, and for a moment the cavern erupted in a susurration of voices. "They are the voices of those w

andem. The Guide leaned in, her eyes soft with sorrow. "There was once a legend, a ballad of hope: that if one could gather all the fo

e. "Then that is our quest," she declared. "To collect these voices, these sto

ed this path and faltered. But if you are to restore what was lost, you must first let

ng as they traversed cavernous tunnels where each drip of water and every rustle of leaf resonated like a heartbeat. It was a jou

m: countless shards of light danced in the air, each one a fragment of a word or a note of a long-extinguished song. The air was electric, alive with

lations of a forgotten sky. Every step she took seemed to awaken more of these luminous symbols, and they pulsed in time with her heartb

n. "These... these are the voices of the lost," he said, voice trembling.

y," it warned in a gentle tone. "Each voice has a price. To reclaim them is to invite both joy and sorrow. The song of the w

untless voices echoing beneath her palm. "We can mend the silence," she said softly. "But

t was as if it called to her, humming a tune only she could hear-a lullaby of the love and loss of a mother

and quiet moments beneath a gentle sky. The shard sang through her consciousness, threading its way into the fabric of her b

ery lost voice carried both the agony of its absence and the brilliance of its mem

at had been growing between them since their first steps in the Field of Forgotten. "Togeth

s: The voices are not to be hoarded. They are to be set free-released into the wind so that every corner of this silent

ted by a gentle, pulsating glow. "Your path continues there," she said. "Beyond lies the heart of the silence, where the Hollow's gr

ather and the shard that now rested in her hand like a sacred r

t a promise, a forgotten note of a grand, eternal symphony. The passage wound and twisted, a labyrinth designe

voice that was stolen from the world was not merely a loss-it was a call to rise, to remember that every whisper, every word, every name mattered. And as they moved

ery reclaimed memory a step toward healing the wounds inflicted by oblivion. And so, amid the shimmering shards of lost voices and the unyielding silence of forgotten names, Ari

The Voice T

omething older-something that had learned to move through silence. The sound s

. "It's here," she said so

that... one of the

e didn't

s list

as near, it was safer to

it split open-just a hairline at first, then wide enough to reveal a

gested tur

ach passing day. If they didn't find its source-and it

tone in the other. Aria followed, close enough to see the way hi

scended, the quiet

ootf

reat

ht felt loud e

th

Not sound

ur name, li

fli

n her shoulder. "Don't

offering. And offering

ended roots that glowed faintly blue. It looked like the inside of a hollowed-o

no more solid than smok

no shape-only a

er by borrowed sounds. A father's cry.

it had

reforming with each movement. Faces flickere

speak wit

that once bel

sing her mother's voice. "

front of her. "G

ael's own voice answered, now s

her," it mocked

him. Long ago. Maybe

epped f

," she said quietly, holding the f

emed to paus

rry a name like a lantern. Burn it

ael's hand pul

feather. The cav

Thief

wind blew through its form a

ped the b

cra

tered-bu

, a light b

ices inside the Thi

labies, and names-all torn from it by wind

eeled, its clo

ee and scatter

roots above them into trembling lines of power. "What i

his knees,

whispered. "It

ully collapse, it hissed a f

ue v

r what it wants forgotten. You

nished in a gu

tone

ather

st for a second

. Not in

their

we

them truly rested. The wind wouldn't settle. It tugged

ceans that hummed like flutes, a girl

e Hollow Wind at the

mpty. W

heeks and a taste in her mou

t staring into the

r's name. Eiran. He used to carve birds from driftwood. Gave

hat followed

as s

e feather in h

is afraid of this,"

rom behind them. "It's

fro

it want?"

ooked towar

No stories. No songs. No names. Just

d, "So we kee

ria n

might era

would car

to carve them i

rove that morning, fol

did not t

let t

n a cavern deep beneath nam

st

gi

beh

iting to