Chapter 73:
The Choir of Pale Death
I. The Cradle Sealed
The doors of the Cradle closed behind Nayel with a sound that seemed to silence the galaxy. No hinges. No bolts. Just the finality of fate sliding into place. Once inside, Nayel's light vanished from view. The path ahead now belonged solely to them.
Outside, the wind shifted.
Errin sheathed his blade but kept his hand near the hilt. Echo's wings unfurled with a quiet, steely hum. Around them, the stars dimmed—and then the song began.
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II. The Wailers Awaken
It began as a whisper. A note so soft it sounded like grief breathed into cold glass.
Then came another. And another.
Each note layered upon the last like veils of sorrow until the air itself trembled.
From the horizon, they came—figures in flowing white, faceless, voiceless, but singing with the agony of a thousand forgotten gods. Their robes danced like smoke, though no wind moved. Their mouths didn't open, but their song ripped through the soul.
The Pale Choir.
Sent by the Usurper. Born from the cries of gods who died unloved, unrevered, and erased from memory.
They sang to unmake.
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III. The First Blow
Echo stepped forward first. The song hit him like a collapsing memory. He staggered.
He saw a child—himself—curled in a forgotten corner of a world that never knew him. Every word of abandonment, every face turned away, echoed in their song. His soul trembled.
Errin gritted his teeth.
> "They attack through regret."
He slammed the hilt of his blade into the ground, anchoring his spirit. The ground trembled, forming a protective ring around Echo.
> "Feel your pain," he shouted. "Then burn it into will."
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IV. Echo's Answer
Echo fell to one knee, the flame in his chest sputtering.
But then he remembered Nayel's voice. And Errin's silence when he'd chosen to stay. He remembered choosing to protect rather than to flee.
He rose.
> "You're not my pain. You're just its echo."
He spread his arms. His wings ignited, not in fire—but song.
Echo sang back.
It was not perfect. It was raw, cracked, unfinished—but it was his. His note split the Choir's wail like a shard of sunlight breaking storm clouds.
One of the Pale Wailers shattered into white ash.
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V. Blade Against Sound
Errin stepped forward next. The Choir shifted focus. Their song twisted—sharpened. Not sorrow this time, but temptation.
Visions of what he could have had. A world where he stayed. A world where his daughters never wept. A world where Nayel was never born because he chose comfort.
> "You've seen too many paths," the song hissed. "What gives you the right to choose one?"
Errin closed his eyes.
> "Because I did. And I won't go back."
With a breath, he drew his blade—Eldsworn. It glowed not with power, but with conviction.
He slashed the air, and the song broke like glass.
Three Choir members collapsed into dust.
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VI. Sacrifice and Shift
But for every Wailer that fell, another rose from the earth—more ancient, more sorrowful.
Echo faltered again.
Errin took a blow meant for him. The sound sliced through his shoulder like a blade of mourning.
He fell to one knee.
> "Too many," Echo whispered.
> "Then make it count," Errin growled.
He stood. Bleeding. Broken. But unbending.
They stood back-to-back now, surrounded by the Choir.
And then—light.
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VII. The Voice Within
From within the Cradle, Nayel's voice echoed outward. Not spoken—sung.
A single note. Pure. Unyielding.
The Choir paused.
Nayel was still a child, but not helpless. The cradle had awakened an echo of their power.
The Choir hesitated.
Errin looked up. Echo smiled.
> "Now," they said together.
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VIII. End of the Choir
With the child's note guiding them, they struck. Blade and flame. Wing and will.
The last Wailer screamed—not in sorrow, but relief.
They were finally released.
The Pale Choir was no more.
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IX. Breathing Room
As silence returned, Errin dropped to the ground, exhausted. Echo knelt beside him, still singing softly to himself—a lullaby now, not a war cry.
The Cradle still pulsed. Nayel was not yet done.
But they had bought time.
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