The plan, forged in the silent halls of the Library, was terrifyingly simple. Kael would remain in the relative shelter of the sea cave, acting as a lookout. In his hand, he held the crystalline shard. If the storm's chaotic roar overwhelmed my own senses, he would strike it, sending out a single, pure note of harmony for me to anchor myself to.
"Do not fight it, Iris," he said, his voice nearly lost in the gale. "You cannot command a storm. You can only dance with it."
I nodded, my throat too tight for words. I took one last look at his worried face, then stepped out from behind the rock and into the full fury of Siren's Cove.
The assault on my senses was absolute. The wind tore at my cloak, trying to rip it from my back. The rain was not falling; it was a horizontal barrage of icy needles that stung my skin. And the sound—it was a physical force, a wall of noise so immense it felt like it could shatter bone. The shriek of the wind, the deep, thunderous crash of the waves, the groan of the ancient cliffs—it was a symphony of chaos.
I scrambled down the slick rocks toward the small beach. The sand was dark and heavy, a coarse mixture of black volcanic grit and crushed shells. As the first wave crashed and receded, dragging a churning layer of sand back into the sea, I reached out with my Sandsong, trying to command the patch in front of me to hold firm.
It was like trying to shout down the storm itself. My will, which had felt so strong in the quiet chamber, was utterly swallowed by the ocean's raw power. The sand was ripped away, heedless of my song.
Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through me. I couldn't do it. The scale was too immense, the power too overwhelming. My own song was lost, a single, frightened note in a hurricane.
Just as I was about to retreat, a faint, pure tone cut through the din. It was clear and unwavering, a perfect note of harmony that resonated deep in my chest. Kael. He had seen me falter.
I closed my eyes, shutting out the terrifying sight of the churning water, and focused on that single, perfect note. It was my anchor. I let the roar of the storm wash over me, but I held onto that note. And then, following Kael's advice and the memory of my lessons, I stopped fighting. I began to listen.
Beneath the chaos, there was a rhythm. The relentless, percussive crash of the waves, one after another. The long, deep sigh of the undertow as it dragged the water back. The high, keening whistle of the wind as it scraped against the cliff face. It was not just noise. It was a song—a brutal, violent, and terrifying song, but a song nonetheless.
I took a breath and began to sing my own song, not in opposition, but in concert. I timed my will to the rhythm of the waves.
As a massive wave pulled back, exposing a stretch of wet, dark sand, I didn't command it to be solid. I asked it to hold, weaving my song into the brief moment of quiet left by the retreating water. For a single, heartbeat-long moment, a patch of sand before me hardened, its surface glazing over like solid stone.
Then the next wave crashed down. I braced myself, and the hardened sand held, the water exploding around my legs instead of sweeping them out from under me. It worked.
It became a terrifying, exhausting dance. I would wait for the undertow, sing my harmony into the sand, create a small island of stability, and then brace for the next impact. In the lulls, I would dash forward a few feet, then repeat the process, creating a new anchor just before the next wave hit. I was not stopping the ocean; I was simply creating a series of fleeting footholds in its path, moving with its brutal rhythm.
Slowly, painfully, I made my way across the beach. The sea fought me for every inch, but the storm's own song was now my shield. Soaked, shivering, and battered, I finally lunged for the base of the cliff face and hauled myself onto a low, slick ledge, just out of reach of the main force of the waves.
I had made it. I pressed my back against the cold, wet rock, my chest heaving, and looked up. The Resonance Well hummed with stolen power above me, its metal pillars slick with rain. The first part of the impossible task was done. Now, I had to climb.