The bridge was a corpse.

  Harlan pressed his palm against the railing, fingers tracing the grooves where centuries of hands had worn the stone smooth. Beneath his touch, the bridge hummed—not with wind or the distant rush of the river below, but with voices. Whispers seeped from the cracks like smoke, words half-formed and fraying at the edges.

  "—crossed too soon—"

  "—don’t look back—"

  "—I didn’t mean to forget you—"

  The last one hooked into Harlan’s ribs. A woman’s voice, raw with grief. He jerked his hand back.

  "Told you it was creepy," Riven said, leaning against the opposite railing. Moonlight carved shadows under his eyes, turning his usual smirk into something gaunt. "But no, the alchemist needs to poke the haunted bridge. For science."

  Harlan flicked a pebble at him. "You’re the one who brought me here."

  "Because you wouldn’t shut up about Sorin’s scars." Riven’s knuckles whitened around the railing. "This is where the Hollow King’s laughter lives. Thought you’d want to hear it."

  A gust of wind slithered between them, carrying the scent of wet moss and something older—burnt sugar, like the residue of Sorin’s golden flares. The bridge shuddered.

  Harlan unstopped the vial at his belt, holding it to the air. "Let’s see what the stones remember."

  The liquid inside—a concoction of distilled memory and quicksilver—swirled, then turned the color of tarnished bronze. He tipped a drop onto the bridge.

  The reaction was immediate.

  The stone screamed.

  The sound wasn’t sound at all. It was a pressure, a fist around Harlan’s lungs, a thousand voices unraveling at once. He staggered, catching himself on the railing as the world tilted.

  Riven didn’t move. His face was eerily calm, but his eyes—

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  His eyes were fixed on something Harlan couldn’t see.

  A laugh echoed from the stones. Not warm. Not human. A thing of edges and fractures, the sound a crown makes when it hits the ground.

  "Riven." The voice was smoke and splintered glass. "Little knight. You were supposed to remind me."

  Riven’s breath hitched. "I tried."

  The bridge trembled. Cracks spiderwebbed beneath their boots, glowing faintly gold—like Sorin’s scars.

  Harlan’s vial shattered in his hand.

  The laughter faded, leaving Harlan’s ears ringing. He wiped his bleeding palm on his coat, watching the gold-tinged cracks in the bridge pulse like a slow, sick heartbeat.

  "You knew that would happen," he accused.

  Riven didn’t deny it. He just stared at the spot where the voice had come from, his jaw tight. "I knew something would."

  A whisper curled up from the stones between them—"Liraeth."

  Harlan froze. "What was that?"

  Riven’s hand twitched toward his sword. "A name the Sanctum erased."

  The wind picked up, howling through the bridge’s arches like it was trying to scour the word away. But the whispers surged louder, fighting back:

  "She held the dagger—"

  "—king’s last promise—"

  "—why did you let go?"

  Riven flinched.

  Harlan had seen the knight face down Hounds without blinking. But this—this undid him.

  The bridge groaned. A chunk of railing broke loose, plummeting into the dark below. No splash. Just silence.

  "We were supposed to remind him," Riven said abruptly. "The Hollow King. That was the oath." He kicked a loose stone, sending it skittering into the abyss. "But the bastard wanted to forget. And we let him."

  Harlan’s mind raced. "Sorin."

  Riven’s smile was razor-thin. "Took you long enough."

  Another voice rose—a child’s. "You left us behind."

  The words hit like a slap. Riven’s armor creaked as he gripped the railing, his voice raw. "I didn’t have a choice."

  The bridge shuddered violently. More cracks split the surface, glowing gold where Sorin’s scars would.

  Harlan grabbed Riven’s arm. "We need to go. Now."

  Riven didn’t move. "You hear that?"

  A new sound threaded through the chaos—a lullaby. The same one from Kael’s music box.

  "You were never meant to endure."

  Then—

  A snap.

  The bridge gave way.

  They barely made it to solid ground before the entire center span collapsed, stone dissolving into the river like sugar in tea. The voices wailed, then faded—all but one.

  The child’s.

  "Find me."

  When the dust settled, Harlan spotted something glinting in the rubble. A child’s bracelet, silver chain snapped, the charm engraved with a single letter:

  L.

  Riven picked it up, his face unreadable. "Liraeth."

  Harlan’s blood ran cold. "The woman from Sorin’s visions."

  Riven pocketed the bracelet. "I think Sorin’s remembering on purpose."

  The river swallowed the last of the bridge’s echoes. But the lullaby lingered, humming in the dark.