CHAPTER 317: THE VOICE BEYOND THE DOOR

The Voice Beyond the Door

"CITIZENS OF SILVER CITY—CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

The voice slammed into the air like a war drum—booming, too sharp, too clean, carrying an unnatural weight as it tore through the thick stone walls of the hidden safehouse. It was like thunder dropping out of a clear sky.

Everything stopped.

Plates slipped from fingers and clattered against the floor. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even the children—crying or playing only moments before—went rigid, wide-eyed. Little bodies stilled as parents pulled them close without thinking, hands curling protectively over small shoulders. Soldiers turned sharply toward the sound, muscles tightening. Maids froze in place. In the dim underground shelter, buried deep beneath the ruins of a fallen city, the tension didn’t just rise—it sparked, then spread, catching fast, the way fire runs through dry grass.

And Leon...

He had just reached his chamber. One hand still rested on the cool stone of the doorway, one foot inside, when the sound hit. His body locked. Muscles drew tight under his skin. His golden eyes narrowed to sharp slits—like blades about to strike—and without a single word, he turned. Slow. Deliberate. His gaze fixed on the heavy steel door that sealed them from the world above.

Behind him, his wives went still. The maids beside them had the same wide-eyed, braced look. One by one, faces turned toward the same point, breaths caught in throats. Nobody spoke. Nobody dared. Every set of eyes tightened at the corners, brows pulling down. This wasn’t some random voice in the distance. It was purposeful. Meant to be heard. A broadcast maybe, but one that didn’t give you the choice to ignore it.

Then it came again.

"I REPEAT—CITIZENS OF SILVER CITY, CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

The pause that followed seemed to press down on every chest in the room, holding the air hostage. A pause that promised something was coming.

"IF YOU CAN HEAR ME... COME OUT FROM WHEREVER YOU’RE HIDING. I AM GENERAL HARRY, OF THE SOUTHERN DIVISION OF THE MOONSTONE KINGDOM ARMY."

The words landed like stones dropped in water—shock rippling out in silent waves. A few gasps slipped free. Parents tightened their grip on their children. Some people edged back, shoulders bumping the cold stone walls.

It wasn’t just the announcement. It was what it meant.

Someone knew they were here. Someone was standing above them.

Gasps came again, layering, each one pulling the fear tighter. Eyes darted between neighbors, searching for answers no one had.

"He... he outside safehouse door?" someone whispered, the words breaking on their tongue.

"No. That can’t be..." a woman answered too quickly, clutching her husband’s arm like a rope keeping her above water. Her knuckles were bone-white.

Every glance slid back toward the steel door. But no sound came from above. No footsteps. No scrape of boots.

Still, no one moved.

Leon hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t even shifted his stance. His eyes stayed locked on that door, jaw tight, breath slow. He was listening—measuring—every second.

And the voice kept going.

"COME OUT. I HAVE COME HERE TO RESCUE YOU."

"TO ALL CITIZENS—COME. I’VE BEEN SENT TO BRING YOU TO SAFETY."

But the shelter stayed frozen, wrapped in that strange, suffocating stillness. Not because they didn’t understand the words. Not because they hadn’t heard. But because trust was a harder thing than fear—and none of them had any left for strangers. The war had burned that out of them long ago.

Five minutes crawled past. No one shifted. No one even scraped a heel against the floor. The only sound was the steady, careful breathing of a hundred people trying not to exist loudly enough for the surface to notice.

Then the tone changed. The voice turned harder. Sharper.

"IF YOU DO NOT COME OUT IN TEN MINUTES—AND IF I RECEIVE NO RESPONSE... I WILL REPORT BACK TO HIS MAJESTY THAT THE CITIZENS OF SILVER CITY... ARE DEAD. DO YOU HEAR ME? DEAD."

Still, silence.

Not from fear.

From decision.

They had already chosen who they trusted. And that loyalty—heavy, immovable—was to Leon.

But slowly, the air shifted again.

Heads began to turn. Shoulders squared. Men, women, children—one by one—looked away from the door and toward the man still standing beside it.

Leon.

He didn’t glance back at them right away. His gaze stayed pinned to the steel door. Behind him, his chamber waited untouched. His body language calm. Too calm.

Finally, he spoke—his voice low, steady, impossible to mistake.

"...General Harry," he said, eyes unmoving. "He’s outside. No—he’s not at the safehouse door. He doesn’t know where it is. He’s probably near the ruins. Somewhere above."

The words weren’t loud, but they carried.

A single heartbeat of silence passed, thick with meaning.

Then Leon turned slightly, speaking to the room with the same steady calm that cut clean through the tension.

"If anyone still wants to go... I won’t stop you." His eyes swept over them. "You’re free to choose."

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to.

And, as if to seal it, he said again—clearer this time, no room for doubt: "If you don’t want to follow me any further, now’s your chance. I won’t hold it against you. No chains. No threats."

The quiet after that could crush a man. Barely a second passed before one stepped forward.

"What are you saying, Lord?" the man asked, his tone steady, proud. "We’ve already chosen. We’ve been following you, my lord. We’re not about to run off now."

Another voice rose, firm and fierce. "That’s right! In this war-torn kingdom, you’re the only one building something real. Why would we follow anyone else?"

A woman’s hand lifted, her voice bright with conviction. "I don’t care what that kingdom declares. Dead or alive, I remember who stood with us when death was pounding at the door. It wasn’t them—it was you."

Then the swell began.

"Yes, Lord Leon! We won’t leave you!"

"You gave us hope—we don’t need their ’rescue’!"

"We choose you—not the ashes we left behind!"

Leon’s lashes lowered slightly. His chest rose with a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He let it out slow, a small, tired curve touching the corner of his mouth. He drew in to speak—

—but the surface voice cut across him.

"TEN MINUTES IS OVER."

"I DECLARE THE CITIZENS OF SILVER CITY—GONE FOREVER."

The words rolled down through the stone like a verdict. Then—silence.

No boots. No pounding. No sudden violence.

Just... nothing.

The crowd didn’t move. Not yet. They listened for the sound of steel breaking through stone, for boots storming the corridors. But nothing came.

And gradually, the tension loosened its hold. Shoulders uncoiled. Mothers pressed their children close, but now it was comfort, not fear. Whispers began to rise. A few faint smiles.

Leon took a step forward, voice steady and sure. "They didn’t find us. We’re safe. Get some rest. Tomorrow’s a big day."

Soft murmurs passed from one to another—relief, disbelief, a couple of tired laughs.

Finally, Leon turned away. This time for good. With his wives and loyal maids falling in beside him, he stepped into his chamber and let the door close behind him.