The surface of the lake was still, yet it shimmered with colour beneath — soft blues and golds that twisted like a living dream. Eryndor crouched at the edge, his reflection breaking apart into ripples of light every time the breeze passed.He could hear it again — that faint, echoing note rising from below. Not of danger, but of something trying to remember how to exist. The Song of Elyria was shifting, like a heart teaching itself a new rhythm.Behind him, Aria approached quietly, the grass soft beneath her bare feet. “It’s calling to you again, isn’t it?”Eryndor nodded. “It isn’t a Rift or a fracture this time. It feels… curious.”Lirien joined them, her harmonic compass whirring and clicking in sharp counterpoint. “Curious or not, it’s resonating at impossible depth. I’ve never seen readings this low since the First Harmonic’s awakening.”Eryndor frowned, eyes fixed on the golden spiral that pulsed faintly under the lake’s surface. “That’s not the earth’s memory. That’s mine. The

The wind over Elyria no longer sang — it howled.It tore through the newly formed plains in ragged bursts, carrying whispers that weren’t voices but remnants — syllables half-remembered by a world still trying to speak his name.Eryndor stood at the crest of a silver ridge, his cloak rippling in the chaos. Below, the valley churned like a storm trapped within the earth. Clouds twisted in impossible spirals above a vast rift of light — the resting place of the Wind Harmonic.Zephyr shielded his face as the gusts clawed at them. “You sure it’s down there? It feels like the sky’s trying to eat itself.”“It’s there,” Eryndor said quietly. “I can feel it — the breath of Elyria. But something’s wrong.”Aria stepped forward, her hair whipping around her face. “It’s angry. The wind isn’t alive anymore… It’s grieving.”Lirien’s harmonic compass glowed an unsteady blue. “The resonance field’s collapsing in on itself. It’s not a storm — it’s feedback. The Wind Harmonic is trying to purge the fal

The night wind in Elyria had grown softer.It no longer howled through broken spires or whispered through glass bones — it sang. A fragile song, uncertain in its rhythm, but alive. The plains rippled like water under moonlight, and for a moment the reborn world seemed almost peaceful.Eryndor stood at the crest of a hill, his cloak stirred by the currents that always seemed to follow him. Beneath his boots, the ground pulsed faintly — a heartbeat not his own.The song of the world.He could feel it in every breath.Aria joined him quietly. “You’ve been awake all night again.”He nodded. “The Song keeps changing. Every time I close my eyes, it shows me something new.”“Dreams?”“Memories,” he said. “But not all of them mine.”Down in the camp, Zephyr snored audibly beside the fire while Thorne kept a silent watch. Lyra had her bow across her knees, eyes half-open even in rest. And Lirien, always the scholar, had fallen asleep over a page of notes, her quill still in hand.Aria tilted h

The shattering sound hung in the air like a scream made of light.Fragments of the mirror world hovered around them — each shard reflecting not their faces, but moments. Echoes of the past.Eryndor saw himself kneeling before the Resonant Rift, giving his essence to save the world. Aria saw the forests burning before her gift awoke. Lyra saw the first arrow she ever missed — the one that cost her a friend. Zephyr’s reflection laughed at him — a wilder version of himself that never learned control. Lirien’s showed the moment he bound himself to the Harmonic sigils. Thorne’s… simply stared back, older, scarred, but unbroken.Kael’s voice rippled across the shards.“You never left the Rift, Eryndor. You think you’re walking Elyria reborn — but this world is a construct born from your sacrifice. You’re living inside your own echo.”Eryndor stepped forward. “Then why are you here?”Kael smiled faintly. “Because I was part of the song you sang when you healed the world. The Voice doesn’t ju