It began with a sound no one should ever hear.
Not a scream.
Not a song.
Something in between.
A harmony of agony.
A lullaby of war.
The sky over the Black Pines turned to ash. Smoke curled into letters. Each stroke a syllable in the old tongue, calling forth the Ashen Choir.
Ren Zhe stopped mid-step.
He heard it.
Not with ears.
With bone.
Meimei dropped, clutching her head. "It's inside my skull—"
The Echo caught her.
"They're close," he murmured. "Closer than they should be."
Ren Zhe didn't ask.
He turned west.
Toward the desert where his memories told him the answers waited.
But the Choir would not let him leave.
Not without a song.
They came not on wings, but on air.
Figures dressed in robes of parchment, their faces blank scrolls. Ink dripped from their fingertips. Every step left behind a trail of staves—black notes etched into the ground.
The lead singer was a woman.
Or had once been.
Now, her mouth was sewn with golden string, and her neck was lined with tuning forks that pulsed with every breath.
Ren Zhe stepped forward.
"I don't listen to ghosts."
She smiled.
And began to hum.
The sound was soft—at first.
A vibration.
Then a pulse.
Then a pressure, like hands forcing his mind open.
Memories spilled.
His mother's laughter.
His master's last breath.
His own screams in the dark.
Meimei fell to her knees.
Even the Echo staggered.
Ren Zhe planted his foot.
Not this time.
He raised his right hand—and the air shimmered.
Where once had been flesh, now coiled the Grave Mark, glowing black and silver, like starlight drowned in blood.
The hum shifted.
Discord crept in.
The lead singer faltered.
Ren Zhe struck the ground.
The silence answered.
A wave of stillness burst from him.
The Choir stumbled.
The lead singer hissed—a sound that came from every direction and none.
"I buried gods," Ren Zhe said. "Do you think you scare me?"
He stepped forward.
With each stride, the ash receded.
The Choir tried to sing again.
But their song became his.
He raised his left hand.
And with it, the second power of the grave.
The Binding Verse.
Invisible chains spun from his voice, latching onto notes before they were sung.
The Choir's melody shattered like glass.
The lead singer screamed—a sound like paper tearing.
Her mask cracked.
Revealed not a face, but pages.
Thousands of them, fluttering in a storm of agony.
Each one told a story.
Each story was a curse.
One hit Meimei—and she cried out.
Ren Zhe moved faster than thought.
Snatched it mid-air.
Read it.
His own name stared back.
Ren Zhe, who fell beneath the earth and rose too late.
He burned the page in his palm.
"No."
He turned to the Choir.
And spoke.
Just one word.
"Rest."
The Choir fell.
Their robes dissolved.
Their music faded.
All that remained were scrolls—blank, waiting, hungry.
The Echo bent down, picked one up, and frowned.
"They sent a prelude."
Meimei wiped blood from her nose. "What's the real performance, then?"
The ground beneath them trembled.
A tower rose in the distance.
Not built.
Summoned.
Black stone. Spiraling wards. Faces carved into every level.
The Tower of Chords.
Home of the true Choir.
The Echo looked at Ren Zhe.
"You're not strong enough to reach it. Not yet."
Ren Zhe looked at his hands.
One glowed with silence.
The other with chains.
"I will be."
Inside the Tower of Chords
Beneath the thousand faces, the Grand Cantor watched.
His throat had been carved open and replaced with crystal flutes. Every breath he took echoed with pain and prophecy.
"The Dead One has awakened the Grave Mark," he rasped.
An acolyte bowed. "He has broken the First Note."
"Send the Voice Eater," the Cantor whispered. "And prepare the Dirge."
That Night
Ren Zhe meditated beneath a shattered pine tree.
The ground was still scarred from the Choir's music.
He inhaled.
The silence answered.
But it was… different now.
Deeper.
Wider.
He looked inward.
And found the first gate.
It was buried in the darkness of his soul.
A door made of bone and thorn.
He stepped through.
Inside was a child.
Himself.
Sobbing.
Alone.
"You left me," the boy said.
"I came back," Ren Zhe answered.
"But I died."
Ren Zhe knelt.
"I made you a promise. I would return stronger."
The boy looked up.
Eyes empty.
"Then prove it."
Ren Zhe reached out.
Touched the boy's chest.
And the second shard of his soul ignited.
A black flame, shaped like a crown.
He opened his eyes.
The pine tree behind him exploded.
His Grave Mark pulsed.
Silver-black light danced around his fingers.
Meimei stepped back.
"You changed again."
Ren Zhe nodded. "Second shard."
"What now?"
He stood.
"Now we walk into the throat of death. That tower holds the third shard."
The Echo frowned. "And a deathtrap."
"I've died before."
As they traveled, they passed villages burned to ash.
Farms salted.
People gone—not killed, but taken.
Voices still whispered on the wind.
Ren Zhe followed the echoes.
The Echo glanced at Meimei.
"He's changing too fast."
"He's already not the same man," she whispered.
"True," the Echo said. "But the real question is..."
He looked at Ren Zhe's back.
"Which version of him will reach the top?"