Beneath the opulence of the Capital, there existed a world untouched by the light of the golden lanterns. The Catalyst, Anne Marie Vain's underground network, operated within ancient sewers and forgotten wine cellars.
In a secret room hidden behind a wall of the old Vaine-Castell library, Anne sat at a round table. However, she was not alone. Before her, a communication crystal—forbidden technology from Aethelgard—pulsed with a dim blue light, projecting the holographic image of Julian, who was currently at the Northern military camp.
"The report, Julian," Anne said, calmly flipping through the pages of her ledger.
"The grain has arrived, Milady," Julian's voice replied, accompanied by the howling of the Northern winds. "Harold is distributing it personally. He trusts no one. But there is a problem... our spies in the Cathedral report that the Pope has ordered a 'Voice Purge' in the Western territories."
Anne stopped turning the pages. Her sharp eyes fixed on the crystal. "A purge? They want to raise the resonance tax again?"
"Worse. They are sending Inquisitors to seize all metal stocks in our ports, claiming it is a holy decree from the new Saintess to build a giant organ in the Cathedral."
Anne let out a cold laugh. "William doesn't just want Rainnes' voice; he wants to silence my industry. He wants me to kneel before poverty."
Meanwhile, in the Capital, the night of celebration began. Rainnes was led toward a grand balcony overlooking the city square. Thousands of citizens gathered below, their faces pale and hollow, yet their eyes looked up at Rainnes with fanatical hope.
William stood beside her, clad in his ceremonial robes. He whispered into Rainnes' ear, which was partially covered by the golden thorn crown. "Look at them, Rainnes. They hunger for hope. Give them your voice, and they will forget their empty stomachs."
Rainnes stepped forward. The crown on her head began to vibrate violently. In her eyes, the square was not filled with humans, but with clusters of withered energy. And above them floated the Whispering Hollows, ready to suck away every note that escaped her lips.
Rainnes opened her mouth.
Aaaaa—
The sound emerged not as a song, but as a wave of pure frequency—exquisitely beautiful yet agonizing. The crowd below cheered; they felt an instant calm—a false serenity produced by neural manipulation. But Rainnes saw a different reality: every time they felt peace, their life energy was siphoned into the stones of the Cathedral.
Suddenly, amidst the crowd, Rainnes saw someone. A man in pitch-black armor hidden by a tattered cloak, standing still in a dark corner of the square. He did not cheer. His dark eyes looked at Rainnes not with worship, but with deep pity.
It was Harold. He had infiltrated the Capital alone to see his brother's new "weapon."
Their eyes met for a single second. Within that chaotic resonance, Rainnes heard a single sound that did not come from the choir: Harold's heartbeat—heavy, stable, and full of fury. A heartbeat that felt like the strike of a hammer on steel.
Thud!
Rainnes fell to her knees in the middle of her song, fresh blood trickling from her nose. The music stopped instantly.
"Rainnes!" William caught her swiftly, but his eyes darted sharply toward the crowd, as if sensing a wolf had slipped into his fold.
In the darkness, Harold turned and vanished into a narrow alleyway. In his hand, he gripped a small crystal given to him by Anne—a device to record the frequency of Rainnes' voice.
"This song," Harold muttered from the shadows, "is the song of death."