Heartbeat of the King

Chapter 2: Shattered Silence

Their argument was cut short. Behind the Calling Stone, darkness tore the air like a wound, coalescing into an ornate, handleless wooden door. Its surface was worn, as if countless hands had pressed against it, seeking escape, with one word etched in jagged script: OBSERVATION.

The System's voice, cold and mechanical, delivered its judgment: "Fate: Isolation. Assigned to: Observation Class."

Golden gates swung open for the chosen, their crests gleaming under Velheart's chandeliers, promising futures of glory. For me, a black door yawned wide, its silence heavier than the hall's collective breath. I walked through a sea of gazes—fear, pity, hatred woven into their hushed murmurs. The cursed door welcomed me, silent as my heart, its threshold a line between their world and mine. I didn't look back. The System had named me an Anomaly, a flaw in its perfect rhythm. Let them stare. I would be their unraveling.

Beyond lay a stone corridor, narrow and ancient, its walls older than the System's reign. Torches hissed weakly, their flames flickering as I passed, as if recoiling from an unseen eye that judged the erased. The air was thick with decay, a sour stench of forgotten despair that clung to my skin. The walls were not just cold—they were weary, scarred with faint claw marks, as if despair had tried to claw its way out. I pressed my fingers against a damp section, and a vision flashed: a girl, eyes frantic, nails scraping the stone, her silent scream echoing: "Let me out! I don't want this power!" Her despair tasted metallic, sharp on my tongue, her tears a ghost in the air. Another vision followed—a boy, younger than me, his hands bloodied, pounding the wall, whispering, "It took everything." The images faded, but their weight lingered, etched into the stone like unhealed wounds. This was no mere passage; it was the System's graveyard, a tomb for those whose Echoes it deemed unfit.

The whispers grew louder, a chorus of broken lives. I paused, my void absorbing their faint cries. The System had cast them here, stripped them of their Seals, their humanity. Was this my fate? To be erased, forgotten, a name scratched into stone? A memory stirred, sharp and unbidden: my mother, her face half-lost in shadow, whispering in a storm-lashed pass: "Some doors open with silence, Riven. Find them." Her voice was a spark against my void, a flicker of something I couldn't name—hope, perhaps, or defiance. I wondered what price she had paid, what door she had opened to leave me those words. The System hadn't just taken my heart; it had stolen her from me, too. My fingers tightened into a fist. I would not be another scar on these walls.

At the corridor's end stood another door, its wood cracked by centuries, as if time itself had tried to break through. Faint runes pulsed along its edges, their meaning lost to the System's archives. I pushed it open, the hinges silent, as if the chamber beyond had been waiting.

A circular room awaited, moonlight dripping through a barred skylight, casting jagged shadows on a floor etched with unspoken runes. Shelves of untouched books lined the walls, their pages swollen with dust, their titles unreadable in the dim light. The air was saturated with the despair of dozens deemed unfit by the System, their Echoes snuffed out, their fates sealed in this crypt. This was no classroom—it was a cage, a vault for broken souls. Yet something else lingered here, a presence heavier than despair, watching from the shadows. The Silent Eye, perhaps? The thought sent a chill through my void, though I dismissed it. The System's myths would not define me.

In the center sat a lone figure.

Cross-legged, unmoving, her long black hair pooled around her dark uniform like spilled ink. A metal choker hugged her throat, its broken Seal scratched by trembling hands, as if she'd clawed at it in defiance or desperation. Her fingers traced the jagged symbol, reverent yet pained, as if it were both a wound and a vow. Her silence was not like mine. Mine was a void, devouring all it touched, an absence that repelled the System's rhythm. Hers was a dam, holding back an ocean of pain and power, trembling on the verge of collapse. She hadn't been born empty—she had been silenced, her Echo locked by force, her heart chained by some unseen hand.

She sensed me but didn't turn, her shoulders tensing slightly, as if my void pressed against her restraint. Her silence filled the room, a tangible force that choked the air, bending the moonlight into sharper edges. She was not just silent—she was silence itself, a storm held captive.

Our eyes met, and two silences collided. My void probed the cracks in her dam, sensing the roiling power beneath; her storm tested the edges of my emptiness, searching for a flaw. No words passed, only a clash of will and power, like blades meeting in the dark. The air thrummed, the runes on the floor pulsing faintly, as if the chamber itself felt our defiance.

Her voice, when she spoke, was brittle glass—fragile, unused, yet sharp enough to cut. "Are you… the Heartless one?"

I said nothing, my gaze unyielding, my void a shield against her probing storm.

A bitter smile flickered on her lips, fleeting as a shadow. "Even your silence is louder than mine." She rose, her movements fluid yet restrained, as if every step fought an invisible chain. Her coal-dark eyes glinted in the moonlight, carrying a weary, ancient knowledge, as if she'd seen the System's cruelty long before I had. Her choker gleamed faintly, its broken Seal a mirror to her fractured presence.

"What are you hiding in that void, Riven Kael?"

She knew my name.

Something stirred—a memory not quite buried, a whisper from a life half-lost: "Some doors," my mother had said, her voice soft against the storm, "only open with silence." The words burned brighter now, a challenge or a promise I couldn't yet grasp.

I stepped fully inside, the door closing behind me with a soft thud. Meeting her gaze, I swore silently: The System may not know me. I am its Anomaly, its fear. I will carve my own truth. And one day, silence will shatter.