When battle's breath lies poised to break,
And lullabies become the quake,
The silent heart must learn to bleed,
Before the war demands its creed.
Part I: Ren & Kael – "After the Forge"
Ren and Kael crested the ridge overlooking the bruised plains of Elveran. Dawn's first light bled red across scorched fields where once proud armies had marched in perfect cadence.
Ren's new blade—sung and tempered—hung at his side silent as a promise. He watched the far horizon, where drifting smoke still rivaled rising sunbeams.
"Do you hear it?" Kael asked, voice low.
Ren closed his eyes. Beneath the hush, there was a murmur—half-drums, half-dissent. Not the Crown's call, but something deeper.
"Echoes… of soldiers who've lost their rhythm," Ren murmured. "They still fight in dream."
Kael nodded. "We'll find them—and teach them true song."
Together, they descended into the shattered earth.
Part II: Interlude – Aira's Flight
Aira staggered through the twilight markets of Solmarch, a copper coil stitched into her chest—its hum a last defiance against the fragment's decay. Crown Enforcers' patrols glowed like huntlights ahead, but she melted through shadows, silent as regret.
She paused beneath a shattered statue of the First Conductor and pressed the shard to her lips, tasting its dying melody.
"The crown sings law, but I sing flame,"
Aira whispered to the wind.
A low toll of armored boots sounded closer. She melted deeper into ruin until only the fragment's pulse guided her steps—toward Ren, toward the Anvil's Path, toward a rhythm that might yet save them all.
Part III: The Field Where Silence Reigns
Back on the plain, Ren and Kael found survivors huddled in the wreckage of war—cadets and farmers alike, their eyes vacant, their spirits muted.
Ren knelt beside an old veteran whose armor still bore the Crown's sigil. Without words, Ren placed his blade's flat against the man's chest. The silent hum echoed hope.
The veteran's breath rattled once—then steadied. His eyes cleared.
Kael began issuing orders: "Gather them. Teach them the blade's song. Tell them that silence is not surrender."
Part IV: Threads Converge
As they organized the ragged band, Aira emerged from shadow, hand pressed to her wound. Ren saw her first—the shard's faint glow beneath her tunic.
She fell to her knees before him. "This…" she gasped, lifting the shard. "This belongs with your blade."
Ren exchanged a look with Kael. No need for words.
Ren took the fragment and placed it carefully on the pommel of his sword. The two pieces pulsed together—beat for beat—knitting fracture into harmony.
Aira exhaled, relief and pain entwined. Kael stepped forward, offering a flask of Vantael-infused water.
Part V: Closing Verse & March
Ren stood, blade now whole and singing softly, its new note rippling across the wounded field.
He raised the sword. "To those who lost their rhythm: listen and rise."
The gathered survivors stirred, hope kindling in their eyes.
Above them, the sky trembled—not with storm, but with anticipation.
Closing Verse — From the Book of Still and Songs
In broken shards and borrowed breath,
They stand between life's song and death.
Unified by blade and chord,
They march where silence is restored.