The moment the girl disappeared, the air stilled — not in silence, but in suspension. The trees around them held their breath, like an orchestra on the verge of its first note.
Ayame stood where the child had been, her hand still outstretched, heart pounding with something that wasn't fear. Not quite. More like *recognition.*
Kael stepped beside her, his voice low. "She named the shadow. *You* named it."
Ayame's fingers curled slowly. "I didn't know I could do that."
"You didn't just name it," Liora said, her voice thoughtful. "You accepted it."
Above them, the forest began to *change.* Branches twisted upward, forming arches. Flowers bloomed in synchrony across the undergrowth, each petal releasing faint chimes that shimmered like wind-bells.
The path ahead pulsed with new light.
"Where's it leading now?" Kael asked.
Liora closed her eyes. "Forward. Deeper. Toward the place where songs begin."
He blinked. "Okay. And does that place have chairs? Or food? Preferably both?"
Ayame chuckled. "If the trees are humming in harmony, I think we'll be fine."
As they walked, the landscape shifted subtly — more like a memory than a place. They passed a grove of mirrors that reflected not their bodies, but their emotions. Ayame caught a glimpse of herself laughing in one, then crying in another, her reflection looking back with understanding rather than judgment.
Kael stood in front of his mirror for longer than the others. The reflection there held both fire and fragility. He looked… older.
"Are we supposed to *face* these?" he asked.
"No," Liora said. "You're supposed to *recognize* them."
They kept walking.
Eventually, they reached a glade. No trees. Just sky.
And in the center — a pool.
Still. Wide. Deep.
It didn't reflect stars. It reflected *sound.*
Ayame leaned in. The surface rippled, and she heard her mother's voice humming a lullaby from long ago — one she'd forgotten. Next came her own voice — trembling, then strong — whispering words to Kael during their first storm in the old world.
Then silence.
Then…
A song without lyrics.
It came from the pool, from *beneath* it. Gentle at first, then aching. It felt ancient, but unfinished — a melody still reaching for its conclusion.
Liora knelt beside the water. "This is it."
"The place where songs begin?" Ayame asked.
Liora nodded. "Or end."
Kael frowned. "Which is it?"
Ayame looked at the pool again. "Maybe both."
Suddenly, the water surged upward in a slow spiral, forming a shape — a woman woven from light and sound. Her hair moved like the strings of a harp, and her eyes were galaxies without names.
She looked at them — no malice, no threat. Just *expectation.*
Liora rose, her voice steady. "Are you the Composer?"
The figure nodded.
Kael scratched his head. "That's… a job?"
Ayame stepped forward. "You called us?"
The Composer didn't speak. But she reached out a hand, and as Ayame touched it, an explosion of *memory* flooded her mind.
Not her own.
Everyone's.
Moments from countless lives — forgotten voices, melodies cut short, beginnings that never reached their middle. A symphony of what-could-have-beens.
Tears welled in Ayame's eyes.
"So many stories," she whispered. "So many left behind."
The Composer looked to her again.
And though she said nothing, Ayame heard it clearly:
> *Finish them.*
Liora gasped. "She's giving us the thread. To *complete* the song."
Kael looked around. "That sounds like a heavy job for three tired teenagers."
But Ayame shook her head, standing taller. "No. It's not just us."
She turned back toward the forest, her voice rising.
"This place was never meant to be silent."
The glade responded.
Echoes of voices they hadn't heard in years returned — classmates, allies, even old enemies. They weren't alone.
Ayame reached for the pool again, and this time, her voice emerged in song.
Wordless. Simple. But strong.
Kael joined her.
Then Liora.
And the Composer… smiled.
Not a celestial goddess, not a force of unreachable power.
Just someone who had been waiting.
And finally…
She began to fade — not in loss, but in *peace.*
Her form dissolved into the pool, and the melody took root in the glade itself, growing louder, fuller.
Complete.
Ayame wiped her eyes. "We didn't just remember her."
Liora nodded, smiling. "We became her echo."
Kael exhaled. "Okay. That was beautiful and emotionally exhausting. Can we find somewhere to nap where the grass doesn't sing our trauma back at us?"
Ayame grinned. "Not likely."
But as they turned to go, the melody continued — no longer unfinished.
Just infinite.
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