CHAPTER 1557: STORY 1557: THE SPLIT SONG

The lullaby steadied them—but it steadied him too.

The boy’s glow flickered, caught between rhythms. With each pulse, half the lattice blazed white, half blackened into smoke. The survivors felt it immediately, a jarring tug-of-war in their marrow. One note lifted them higher; the next dragged them screaming into shadow.

Kael clenched his jaw as his fused blade sang discordant vibrations, threatening to shatter his bones. “He’s splitting us,” he rasped. “He’s using the child to sing both at once.”

Elara held the boy tighter, though her arms quaked as if clutching fire. “He’s fighting. He hasn’t given in—he’s sharing the burden.”

But it was more than sharing. The Unborn’s voice now flowed directly through the boy, echoing with a resonance that rattled the chains themselves. “Why resist? You are me already. Your scars, your hungers, your griefs—these are my hymns. Sing them freely, and be unmade.”

A ripple tore through the choir. One soldier screamed as his veins lit black, consumed by the darker rhythm. His body convulsed, then exploded into ash, unraveling a strand of the lattice. The survivors staggered, their binding jolted by the loss.

The scarred woman snarled, seizing the moment. “I warned you! He is a gate, not a child! If we sever him, the song dies with him!” She raised her spear again, her intent clear.

Kael met her with his burning blade, sparks shearing into the dark. Their thoughts clashed in the lattice, her fury a storm battering against his iron resolve. “Sever him, and you sever us all,” Kael roared. “He’s not our weakness—he’s our chance.”

The widow’s voice, trembling but steady, broke into the chorus: “I lost my children... but I won’t lose him too.” Her grief poured like steel into the chains, holding the scarred woman back for a heartbeat longer.

The boy writhed, his small voice torn between whispers: “Together...” and “Mine...” Each syllable tilted the lattice violently. Survivors screamed, clutching their heads as the dual songs shredded their minds.

Elara, sobbing, pressed her lips to the boy’s ear. “Listen to me. You are not his mouthpiece. You are not his gate. You are our voice. Ours.”

Her words threaded through the binding, reaching Kael, the widow, the farmer, every trembling survivor. One by one, they poured their voices not into the white light, not into the black smoke, but directly into him.

The boy convulsed, his eyes wide and blazing with two lights at once. His mouth opened—and for a heartbeat, the choir and the Unborn’s hymn collided within him, a cataclysm of sound. The lattice shook, chains cracking, the Gate itself shrieking under the strain.

Then a single note rang out, piercing and pure.

The boy had chosen neither voice. He had sung his own.

The lattice flared, binding jagged but unbroken. The Unborn’s shadow recoiled with a hiss, but laughter lingered still. “Interesting. Let’s see how long his voice lasts.”

Kael staggered, sweat burning on his skin, yet a flicker of hope stirred in him.

For the first time, the boy was not only burden—but singer.