Page 69 of A Taste of Silver
The Crimson One's laughter scraped against reality itself. "The puppet prince thinks he holds the strings." His form solidified further, drawing substance from the fear radiating from Aldric's guards like a predator feeding on terror. The air around him shimmered crimson, and I caught glimpses of other faces in his shifting features, all the loves that had been consumed, all the bonds that had been twisted into something monstrous. "Tell them, boy. Tell them what bargain you struck in the shadow hours before dawn."
Aldric's jaw tightened, the muscle jumping beneath skin that looked too perfect, too unmarked by human frailty. But his composure never wavered, that royal training serving him even now. "I offered myself as anchor for a greater working. Someone must hold the center while the realms merge, or both will collapse into void and chaos."
The words rang false even as he spoke them, and I felt the silver tracery on my arms burn in response to the lie. The suppressants couldn't mask my body's reaction to deception this profound, this carefully constructed.
"Liar." Silvyr's voice cut through the pretense like silver through shadow, carrying the weight of eons spent watching from between worlds. "You offered yourself as vessel. You want to become what the Crimson One is. You want to be immortal.Powerful. Freed from the messy limitations of human flesh and conscience."
The truth of it hung in the air like poison gas, visible in the way the mirrors around us began to crack in spiderweb patterns. I saw it now in the way Aldric moved, too fluid, too perfect, as if his bones had already begun to transform into something that knew no fatigue, no doubt, no mortality. He'd already begun the transformation, trading pieces of his humanity for power that would outlast kingdoms and centuries.
"The realms need structure," Aldric said, as if explaining a simple concept to unruly children. His voice carried new harmonics, undertones that shouldn't exist in a human throat. "Order. Control. Not this chaotic bleeding of one reality into the other, but proper hierarchy. Rules that cannot be bent by emotion or desire."
I watched in growing horror as the mirror-polished armor of his guards began to ripple, the metal flowing like liquid silver. They were becoming extensions of his will, their individual consciousness drowning in the perfect order he promised.
The Crimson One began to sing.
Not the ghost-melody that had haunted the palace, not Silvyr's harmonics that made reality bend and sway, but something older and more terrible. A song of pure ego, technically flawless but empty as winter wind howling through abandoned halls. Each note was a masterwork of precision that contained no soul, no warmth, no connection to anything beyond the singer's own magnificent isolation. The theatre's walls began to crack in earnest now, reality bending under the weight of absolute certainty that admitted no other possibility, no other voice worthy of existence.
The marble columns supporting the upper galleries groaned as dimensional pressure mounted. Chunks of plaster rained down like snow, and I could see the wooden framework beneathbeginning to warp as if the very concept of structural integrity was being questioned.
*In the beginning was the word, and the word was mine alone
Every star that burned in darkness learned its light from my design
I am alpha, omega, the space between all breaths that pass
I am order born from chaos, I am life that will outlast
Every feeble mortal longing, every dream that dares to grow
I am perfection made eternal, I am all you need to know*
The song built with each line, and I felt my bones begin to ache as if they were trying to reshape themselves to match its impossible perfection. The silver tracery on my arms writhed like living things, and I had to clench my teeth to keep from crying out.
Silvyr's hand tightened in mine as he began his counter-verse, his voice raw with centuries of longing finally given form and purpose. Where the Crimson One's song demanded submission, Silvyr's pleaded for understanding, for connection across the vast spaces between hearts.
*In the darkness dwelt a question, searching for its answer true
Through the mirrors, through the shadows, love became a dancer's cue
We are neither and we are both, the promise and the price we pay
We are choosing to be chosen, we are night becoming day
Fire born from ice and starlight, binding souls across the void
We are love that builds not conquers, love that heals instead of destroys*
Their songs clashed like opposing armies, past and future colliding in waves that made my bones ache and my vision blur. The air itself seemed to thicken, becoming almost solid with the pressure of competing realities trying to assert dominance. But something was missing, the bridge between them, the present moment that could unite or destroy everything hanging in the balance.
I felt the weight of my mother's legacy pressing down on me, the accumulated power of every Mirror Queen who had faced this choice.
I opened my mouth and sang.
Not perfectly. My voice cracked on the high notes, wavered on the sustains like an untrained apprentice attempting a master's work. But it was real, human, imperfect and absolutely true in its acknowledgment of both beauty and flaw.
*Here we stand at the threshold, neither winners nor defeated
Here we breathe the same air though our hearts have never beaten
