The Conjunction of the Twin Moons was only a few days away, a celestial deadline that pressed down on Neria and Elira with increasing urgency. The Ritual of Harmonization, the ancient counter-spell to heal the world's wound, required Neria's voice – a voice she no longer possessed. Her scales remained a ghostly white, her throat tight and silent. The Echo of the Dark Night, though a distant hum, was a constant reminder of her loss, whispering doubts about her ability to fulfill the prophecy.
"Maelis," Elira murmured, her voice thoughtful as she meticulously arranged arcane components for the ritual. "She was exiled for her radical views, for speaking of a deeper truth beyond our coven's understanding. She believed in the inherent connection between all forms of magic, between land and sea, between life and spirit. She might know how to channel a voice without sound, how to awaken the true power of your Tempest Siren essence."
Neria, unable to speak, nodded, her eyes pleading. Maelis was their last hope.
"She lives in the Whispering Glade," Elira explained, tracing a path on a worn map. "A hidden grove deep within the Ancient Redwood Forest, far from any human settlement. It's a place where the veil between worlds is thin, where ancient magic still thrives. It will be a dangerous journey, Neria.
The forest is home to spirits and creatures that do not welcome outsiders."
They prepared for the journey. Elira packed dried herbs, protective charms, and a small pouch of Moon-Dust Pellets – not the same as Etan's, but similar in their ability to disrupt minor magical constructs and disorient spirits. Neria, though physically weakened by the curse, relied on her innate siren strength and her growing connection to Elira's magic.
They left the lighthouse at dawn, Ember, the Hellhound, a silent, watchful guardian at their side. The journey through the central plains was swift, but as they approached the Ancient Redwood Forest, the air grew colder, heavier, smelling of damp earth and ancient, untamed magic. The trees here were colossal, their branches reaching for the sky, their roots twisting like ancient serpents. The forest floor was perpetually shrouded in gloom, even at midday.
The Echo of the Dark Night intensified here, its hum growing louder, more insistent, feeding on the pervasive shadows and the raw magic of the forest. Neria felt the familiar cold hand of paranoia tightening its grip, making every rustle of leaves seem like a lurking threat. The absence of her voice, her most powerful weapon, made her feel vulnerable, exposed.
Elira, too, felt the shift. Her premonitions, usually fragmented dreams, began to manifest as fleeting visions in her waking hours: glimpses of ancient trees weeping sap, of shadowy figures moving through the undergrowth, of a powerful, mournful song echoing through the forest. She used her adivinación with conchas more frequently, trying to discern the safest path, to avoid the dangers that lurked within the ancient woods.
They encountered Spirits of the Forest, ethereal, translucent figures that drifted silently through the gloom, their eyes glowing with a malevolent, empty light. They were the remnants of ancient trees, corrupted by a lingering despair, drawn to the raw magic of the forest.
Elira used her Moon-Dust Pellets, lobbing them with precise aim at the spirits. They detonated with a soft thump, releasing a burst of luminescent powder that momentarily disrupted and disoriented the spirits. Neria, unable to speak, used her control parcial del agua, coaxing small currents of mist from the damp air, shrouding their movements, making them harder to detect. Their combined efforts, though weakened by the curse, allowed them to slip past the guardians.
They also encountered Brujas de la Marea, not the helpful ghosts Elira had hoped for, but corrupted spirits of former witches, bound to the forest by ancient, broken pacts. They were drawn to Elira's magic, attempting to siphon her power, to corrupt her. Elira fought them with her elemental magic, summoning gusts of wind to push them back, creating small, protective wards of light. Neria, unable to use her voice, pressed her marked palm against Elira's hand, channeling her remaining Tempest Siren magic, amplifying Elira's spells, making them stronger, more resilient.
As they delved deeper into the forest, the air grew heavier, thick with the scent of damp earth and ancient, untamed magic. The trees grew denser, their branches intertwining above, blocking out the sky. The Echo of the Dark Night was a roaring torrent now, its whispers screaming, Lost! Trapped! Silent! Neria felt the paranoia threatening to consume her, the absence of her voice a gaping wound in her soul.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they reached a clearing. It was a small, circular grove, bathed in a soft, ethereal light that seemed to emanate from the very trees themselves. In the center, a massive, ancient redwood, its bark gnarled and twisted, stood sentinel. And there, seated at its base, her back to them, was a figure. Old, gaunt, with wild, unkempt white hair and eyes that gleamed with a knowing intensity. Maelis.
She turned, her gaze, sharp and ancient, sweeping over them, lingering for a moment on Neria's ghostly white scales and silent throat. "So, the voice of the ocean has come to the light of the lighthouse," Maelis rasped, her voice like the rustling of dry leaves. "And the wound of the world still bleeds. You seek answers, little ones. And you seek a voice that has been lost."
Neria felt a surge of hope, a desperate plea forming in her mind. Maelis knew. She knew the truth.