CHAPTER 131: THE TEST — THE RITE OF SILENCE

The chamber of silence was not a room.

It was a void dressed in stone.

The guards led Alessia down a corridor lined with sconces that burned blue instead of gold, their flames soundless, devouring even the faint whisper of their own existence.

Each step she took echoed for a breath, then died—as though the walls themselves swallowed all trace of noise.

The deeper they went, the colder the air became.

When the final iron door opened, the world ceased to breathe.

The chamber stretched vast and circular, its floor a mosaic of shifting black glass that reflected nothing—no shadow, no form, only the faint glint of distant light.

Twelve pillars ringed the room, each engraved with runes that pulsed faintly like heartbeats.

And in the center stood a single stone pedestal, carved with the Morano serpent biting its tail.

"This is where you will remain," one guard said, his voice oddly muffled—as though the air rejected sound itself. "Until the Rite is complete."

"What must I do?" Alessia asked.

The man’s expression didn’t change. "Endure."

Then they left her.

The door sealed with a resonant thud—muted instantly.And silence fell.

Not the quiet of peace, but the kind that crawled beneath the skin and whispered in thoughts.

The kind that weighed more than darkness.

Alessia took a breath. The sound never reached her ears.

Even her heartbeat felt distant, as if muffled by unseen hands.

She moved closer to the pedestal, tracing its carvings with trembling fingers. Beneath the stone, faint veins of silver pulsed in rhythm—alive.

Lauretta’s words echoed in memory: "When they take your voice, they test your soul. You will hear what others cannot, do not answer it."

Her pulse quickened.

Because now, she understood what the older woman had meant.

The silence was not empty.

It listened.

Minutes turned hours—slipped by without measure.

The cold began to creep into her bones. Her mind screamed for sound, for the scrape of her own breath, for proof that she still existed.

Then, the first voice came.

"Alessia..."

It was soft, so real that her head snapped up.

"Luca?" she whispered—but the word vanished before it reached her own ears.

The voice came again, closer this time. "Why did you lie to me?"

Her heart seized. "I didn’t.... " she tried to say, but even her lips’ motion produced no sound.

The reflection on the floor rippled, forming a shape—his shape.

Luca stood before her, his face half in shadow, his eyes unreadable.

"You spared him," he said. "You spared Lorenzo, and because of that, our blood is stained with betrayal."

Alessia staggered back. "You are not real," she mouthed.

The figure’s expression didn’t change. "You always thought love could save you, foolish girl, Love is a luxury the Moranos can’t afford."

He reached for her—his hand ghosting through the air—and where it passed, frost bloomed across the black floor.

She closed her eyes, trembling.

It’s not him, It’s the Rite and It feeds on fear.

When she opened them again, Luca was gone.

In his place, another stood.

Her late father, Bianchi Vernon.

"Do you remember me, figlia mia?"

Tears welled instantly. Her father’s voice—gentle, melodic, threaded with warmth she had longed for all her life.

"Why did you let them take me?" the apparition asked. "You could have stopped it, you could have saved me."

"No," Alessia mouthed. Her knees buckled. "I was a child—I didn’t know.... "

But guilt flooded her like water, cold and relentless.

She pressed her hands to her ears though there was no sound to block, only memories turned poison.

The chamber shifted around her, walls breathing, the runes flaring brighter with every pulse of pain in her chest.

She saw flashes—her Father’s pale hand reaching out as men dragged her away, her father’s furious shouts, the crimson mark burned into their family crest.

"You let the Moranos claim you," her father’s voice accused. "You let their shadow devour everything we once were."

"Stop," Alessia mouthed, though no one heard.

The floor beneath her feet trembled, veins of light spreading outward from the pedestal.

Something ancient stirred within it—something sentient.

The Silence feeds on truth, Madam Lauretta had once warned. But it punishes regret.

Alessia drew a shaky breath.

She forced herself to look into the reflection again. "You are not him" she mouthed slowly. "You are the echoes of what I fear most but you will not define me."

The illusion blinked. Then shattered—splintering into shards of glass that fell into the black mosaic and vanished.

For a moment, the chamber dimmed.

The runes calmed.

But only for a moment.

Because the next apparition that rose made her heart stop entirely.

It was herself.

A perfect reflection—same eyes, same scar near the wrist—but colder, sharper, a mirror that judged without mercy.

"You think you’re strong," her double said, moving in silence. "But strength isn’t endurance—it’s sacrifice.

And what have you sacrificed, Alessia? You bled for truth, yes—but who will you bleed for now?"

Alessia felt her throat tighten. "For Luca," she mouthed. "For what we stand for."

The reflection smirked. "Then prove it."

From within its chest, it drew a blade—her blade—the silver dagger the emissary had used hours before.

It tossed it at her feet.

The air thrummed. The Rite demands blood for silence.

Alessia bent, fingers brushing the dagger’s hilt.

It burned cold against her palm. She looked up—and the reflection was already upon her.

The two collided in a flurry of movement, silent and furious.

Every strike echoed through her body but made no sound. It was like fighting in a dream—violence without noise, pain without echo.

Her reflection was stronger and faster.

Every time Alessia faltered, the shadow’s lips twisted into a cruel smile.

"Mercy made you weak," it mouthed. "Prove you deserve the Morano name."

She parried the next blow barely, their blades locking in a flash of silver.

The reflection’s eyes gleamed. "You can’t win because you still hesitate."

"I’m not you," Alessia mouthed.

Her double tilted its head. "No—you’re still less."

Rage flared through her then—not the wild fury of pride, but a deeper, cleaner fire.

She shoved forward, twisted the blade from the shadow’s grasp, and drove it through its heart.

Light burst outward, swallowing the chamber in white.

When it faded, she was alone again.

The dagger clattered to the floor and dissolved into dust.

The silence had changed. It no longer pressed against her—it bowed.

The runes dimmed to a gentle silver hum.

A voice—not illusion, but the chamber itself—filled her mind.

You have embraced the silence without losing yourself to it. The Rite acknowledges your endurance.

A door she hadn’t seen before slid open. Beyond it, faint gold light spilled—a dawn waiting for her.

Her legs trembled as she stepped forward.

Every muscle screamed, but she didn’t falter.

When she crossed the threshold, sound returned in a rush—the distant crackle of torches, the whisper of air, the faint, living rhythm of her heartbeat.

Lauretta Morano stood waiting.

The older woman’s expression was unreadable, but there was pride in her eyes. "You survived," she said.

Alessia’s voice rasped, hoarse from disuse. "Barely."

"That’s all survival ever is." Lauretta morano stepped closer, pressing a dark cloth into her hand—a new emblem, woven with the Morano serpent entwined with a white rose. "You have passed the Rite of Silence. The Council will summon you soon for the final trial, the dangerous of it all."

Alessia looked down at the emblem, its silver thread catching the torchlight. "What happens if pass that one?"

Lauretta’s smile was thin. "Then you will no longer be just the wife of Luca Morano, my dear. You will be something far greater—and far more dangerous to temper with."

Alessia’s fingers tightened around the emblem.

The weight of what awaited pressed heavy on her chest.

But inside, beneath fear and exhaustion, burned something new –Resolved.

She lifted her chin. "Then let them come.... I’m ready"