Lira Valenti stood at the heart of Solara's Grand Hall, her bare feet numb against the mosaic floor. A thousand lanterns hung from vaulted ceilings, their flames painting the marble walls gold.
Words of the Accord—ancient, swirling script—glowed faintly in the stone, binding the Five Nations to peace.
Lira's salt-stained linen dress clung to her skin, a fisherman's daughter's rags among silk robes. At seventeen, she was an outsider, her mute throat a lock no key had ever opened.
She didn't belong here, where voices shaped the world.
Yet the Oracle's finger found her.
"Lira Valenti," the Oracle said, her voice a tide crashing against silence.
"Voicekeeper of the Accord."
The hall held its breath.
Then it shattered into chaos.
---
"A mute?"
Lord Rhas of Sarn, his beard braided with gold, spat the word like venom.
"The Accord demands a voice! This is an insult!"
Across the aisle, a Veyran scholar in emerald silk leaned forward, her eyes sharp as knives.
"Solara mocks us. The world frays, and we crown a broken girl?"
Lira's hands curled into fists, nails biting her palms. She wanted to scream, to hurl their scorn back, but her throat was a sealed gate. Always had been.
Her gray eyes swept the crowd—emissaries in crimson, indigo, and gold, their faces twisted with doubt.
She forced her chin up, defiance burning in her chest.
Judge me, she thought. But I'm not broken.
Her life had been whispers in Solara's fish markets, pitying glances from dockworkers.
"Poor thing," they'd said. "Cursed."
Now, those whispers were a storm.
---
A low rumble shook the hall. Lanterns clinked like warning bells, and dust sifted from the ceiling.
Lira stumbled, catching herself on the mosaic's central star—the Accord's seal.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"The Fracture!" an elder from Thryme hissed, her voice trembling.
"The Accord falters already!"
Lira's heart slammed against her ribs. She knew the stories—told by firelight in Solara's slums:
Voicekeepers sang truths that forced kings to kneel.
Their words wove peace into the world's bones.
Without a voice, what was she?
Nothing.
A mistake.
She'd only come to watch—dragged by Kael, her mentor, who'd sworn she'd "see the world's heart."
Now, she was its wound.
---
Kael stepped from the shadows, his weathered face unyielding. His gray cloak blended with the marble, but his eyes burned like coals.
"Enough," he said, voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.
"The Oracle's choice is final. Lira is the Voicekeeper."
Lord Rhas sneered, his gold rings glinting.
"She cannot speak, old man. How will she bind the nations? War looms. We need strength, not silence."
Kael's gaze didn't waver.
"Silence can cut deeper than any word, Rhas. You'll learn."
Lira's chest tightened. Kael had raised her when her father's boat sank, taught her to read, to write, to wield a knife against dockside taunts.
He'd seen something in her—something she couldn't name.
But this?
This was madness.
---
Her eyes flicked to the crowd… and caught a stranger's gaze.
A young man, no older than her, stood among the emissaries. His dark cloak was plain, but his eyes—green as sea glass—held hers.
Not with scorn.
But with something else.
Curiosity. Warmth.
Her breath hitched. A spark ignited in the cold.
Who are you?
---
The hall's muttering grew louder.
"She'll doom us," a plainswoman from Kyris growled.
"The Fracture will swallow us all."
Another tremor shook the floor—deeper, angrier.
A lantern crashed, spitting fire across the marble. Lira's pulse raced.
The Accord was breaking—because of her.
She felt it.
A crack in the air, like glass about to shatter.
---
Kael leaned close, his breath warm against her ear.
"The Accord wasn't born here, Lira."
"It came from a sixth nation, lost to time."
He pressed a scrap of parchment into her palm, its edges soft as whispers.
"Find it, or the world burns."
A sixth nation?
Her mind reeled, questions piling like waves.
---
Before she could think—
A shadow flickered in the gallery above.
Steel glinted.
The crowd screamed as a crossbow bolt streaked toward her heart.
---
Time slowed.
The bolt's whistle filled her ears, sharp and final.
Lira froze, her body betraying her.
Then—impact.
Not pain, but weight.
The green-eyed stranger crashed into her, tackling her to the mosaic.
The bolt grazed her arm—hot blood seeping through her sleeve—and buried itself in the star.
---
The hall erupted.
Emissaries scrambled. Guards shouted.
"Stay down!" the stranger hissed, voice low, urgent.
His body shielded hers, close enough to feel his heartbeat through his cloak.
Those sea-glass eyes locked on her again—fierce with something she couldn't name.
Fear?
Anger?
Or something more?
"They want you dead, Voicekeeper."
Her arm burned. Blood dripped onto the mosaic.
Her mind screamed one question:
Who are you?
---
She pushed against him—her silent strength surprising them both.
He didn't budge, his grip firm but not cruel.
"Move, and you're dead," he whispered, glancing at the gallery.
Another shadow moved—another bolt loaded.
---
Kael's voice sliced through the noise.
"Lira, run!"
He stood at the hall's edge, dagger in hand, fending off a cloaked figure.
The parchment in her hand pulsed faintly—as if it knew.
The stranger hauled her to her feet, his touch electric.
"With me, now!"
---
They sprinted toward a side door.
The hall blurred—screams, steel, fire.
Through arched windows, Solara's marble spires gleamed—beautiful, and doomed.
Another bolt whizzed past, splintering wood.
Lira's heart pounded.
Her muteness was a weight heavier than ever.
She couldn't scream. Couldn't call for Kael.
But her eyes burned with fire.
---
The stranger kicked open the door.
Night-drenched streets unfolded—cobblestones slick with sea mist, the tang of salt thick in the air.
"Keep moving," he said, voice a lifeline.
"They won't stop."
Lira clutched the parchment. Its glow was faint but steady.
Who was this man?
Why risk his life for her?
And what was this sixth nation Kael spoke of?
As they vanished into the shadows, a new tremor shook the ground—deeper than before.
The Accord was breaking.
And someone wanted her silenced.
Forever.