Children of Solara - Chapter 4: The Chamber of Echoes

The laughter in the chamber was faint at first — soft, childish, almost playful. But as I stepped deeper into the rows of glowing pillars, it grew louder, echoing from every surface. My breath fogged the glass, and the sound bounced back at me distorted, multiplied, until I couldn’t tell if it was coming from outside or inside my head.

Each pillar held an adult, frozen in eerie serenity. Their faces were familiar — I recognized some from the expedition: Captain Wren, the navigator, even my history instructor. Their eyes were closed, but their lips twitched as if whispering dreams to the glass.

The laughter rose again — higher now, shriller. I turned, expecting to see a child, but the chamber was empty. Only my own shadow stretched across the floor, long and warped.

Then, from one of the pillars, a hand moved.

I froze. The man inside — I think it was the captain — pressed his palm against the glass. His mouth opened, and though no sound came out, I could read the words on his lips: “Run.”

A crack spidered through the pillar. A faint hiss escaped, followed by a flash of blinding white light. I stumbled backward as the laughter crescendoed into a roar. The glow within the glass turned crimson, pulsing like veins.

The captain’s eyes snapped open — and they were silver.

I bolted toward the stairs, heart hammering. The air around me shimmered, bending like heat distortion. My vision warped — walls breathing, floor undulating beneath my feet. I climbed, gasping, the laughter chasing me upward until I burst into the open square above.

But Haven wasn’t the same.

The city glowed blood-red. The playground was gone, replaced by an enormous whirl of shifting light — a vortex twisting in the air. Children hovered around it, chanting in unison, their voices merging into a single tone that made my teeth ache.

Cael stood at the centre, arms raised, eyes blazing silver.

“You’ve seen the chamber,” he said without turning. His voice carried easily over the sound. “Now you understand what we protect.”

“What are they?” I shouted. “What did you do to them?”

He turned to me slowly, smiling that calm, terrible smile. “They are memory. The adults who forget themselves entirely become pure. We preserve them — their essence feeds the Voice. It keeps Solara alive.”

I shook my head. “You’re killing them!”

Cael’s expression softened, almost pitying. “You still think death and life are opposites. Here, they’re the same.”

The chanting grew louder. The vortex swelled, threads of light reaching toward the towers like roots. Within the swirling glow, I glimpsed faces — thousands of them — adults, children, all melting together into one vast consciousness.

Then I heard Lira’s voice again — faint, but distinct.

“Behind the glass, it listens. It’s not a planet. It’s a mind.”

I spun around. She was there — flickering at the edge of the square, half-transparent, her form unraveling at the edges like smoke. “You went below, didn’t you?” she said. “You saw what it’s doing.”

“Lira, I—”

Her face contorted in panic. “You have to stop listening! The moment you start believing the Voice, it takes root. That’s how it spreads. Through thought. Through faith.”

Before I could respond, Cael’s voice thundered through the square. “Lira!”

He raised his hand. A spear of light shot from his palm, striking her in the chest. She screamed — a sound that seemed to tear the world itself — and dissolved into a thousand fragments of shimmering dust.

I fell to my knees, clutching my head as the whispering returned, louder now, filling every corner of my mind. “Do not fear. Do not resist. You were chosen.”

The ground quaked. Cracks split the glass streets, and red light poured from below. The air tasted metallic, like blood and ozone.

Cael stepped closer, the glow from his eyes so bright it painted the world white. “The Council has decided,” he said. “You will ascend at dawn. You will join us in the Voice.”

He extended his hand, and I felt the pull again — that invisible gravity in his words. My body leaned forward against my will.

“No,” I whispered, forcing the word through clenched teeth. “I won’t listen.”

The air around me screamed.

Cael frowned, as though disappointed. “Then you will break.”

The last thing I remember before the world went black was the ground beneath me turning translucent. Faces swirled in the glass — reaching, pleading, whispering my name in a hundred voices.

And beneath it all, deep and hungry, I heard the planet laugh.

Source: Some or all of the content was generated using an AI language model