"The Choir does not sing. It remembers how the world sounded before language."
— Verse 3, Flame of the First Unheard
---
The moment the Choir moved, reality warped.
Their robes unfolded like paper soaked in oil—revealing limbs carved from scripture and bone.
No weapons.
Just presence.
They walked like a curse being spoken in reverse.
---
Lyra moved first.
Tenebranth ignited.
Not with flame—but with emotionless precision.
One slash.
A line of static carved into air—
And one Choir member folded into itself and vanished.
---
"Lyra—" Vayren called.
But she didn't stop.
Each step she took forward, the flames around her dulled.
She was too fast.
Too still.
Too silent.
Vayren moved to cover her—Veilbrand drawn, Mark pulsing hard in resistance.
"Echo: Premonition Clash."
He slid between two attacks that never happened—erasing their rhythm before it began.
And cut.
The air itself howled—his strike removing intent from one of the Choir.
It fell, unraveling mid-motion.
---
But they didn't scream.
Didn't bleed.
Only glowed faintly as if… recording.
---
The last three circled them.
They raised their hands in unison.
And the world stopped moving.
---
Vayren froze in place.
Not his body—his thoughts.
Locked mid-sentence.
A moment without language.
> "They're nullifying communication," he realized, trapped inside his own skull.
> "They're not just assassins. They're silencers of reality."
---
Lyra didn't think.
She moved.
And Tenebranth glowed.
Once.
The emotion anger vanished from the air.
Even the earth stopped shaking.
The Choir fell.
One by one.
---
When the silence broke—
Only Vayren and Lyra remained.
Both breathing hard.
Both looking at each other.
For a long time, they said nothing.
Then—
> "You killed them all," Vayren said.
Lyra looked down at her blade.
> "No."
She turned away.
> "Tenebranth did."