The Warden did not speak again for a long time. He simply stood, a statue of living stone, his obsidian eyes fixed on Kaelen. The silence was not empty; it was filled with the deep, resonant hum of the Heartstone, a vibration that seeped into Kaelen's bones, soothing the last remnants of his fatigue. He sat on the warm, black rock, feeling like a speck of dust in a giant's cathedral.
Finally, the Warden moved. He did not walk so much as the earth seemed to carry him, his steps making no sound. He stopped a few paces from Kaelen and drove the base of his root-like staff into the stone floor. A single, clear chime rang out, a note that hung in the air, perfectly harmonized with the Heartstone's hum.
"All power has a voice," the Warden's voice echoed in Kaelen's mind. "The wind shrieks and whispers. The river rushes and murmurs. The fire crackles and roars. But the stone... the stone sings. Its song is the oldest and slowest of all. Most hear only silence. You... you have heard the echoes. Now, you must learn to listen to the symphony."
Kaelen thought of the chaotic, overwhelming noise of the Stonemaw, the mournful drone of the blighted stream. "I've tried. It's so loud. And when it's wrong, it hurts."
"Because you are listening with your fear," the Warden stated, his tone devoid of judgment. "You hear the stone's pain as your own. You must learn to observe without being consumed. To be the vessel, not the wine. Stand."
Kaelen got to his feet, his legs still feeling strangely new.
"The First Note is not about doing. It is about being." The Warden gestured to the smooth, obsidian floor. "Assume the stance of the mountain. Feet apart, rooted. Feel the connection."
Kaelen planted his feet, mimicking the Warden's own immovable posture.
"Now, close your eyes. Do not reach out. Do not push your will. Simply... listen. Tell me what you hear."
Kaelen closed his eyes. At first, all he was aware of was the thunderous pulse of the Heartstone, a beacon so bright it drowned out everything else.
"The Heartstone is the chorus," the Warden's voice guided him, soft as shifting gravel. "Listen past the chorus. Listen to the individual voices."
Kaelen took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. He let the Heartstone's song become the background. Slowly, other sensations emerged. He felt the immense, deep bass note of the mountain's core, a vibration of unimaginable age and stability. He felt the higher, tighter strain of the peaks around them, holding against the wind and sky. And beneath his feet, he felt the specific, complex melody of the Sky-Anvil itself—a song of perfect balance, of purpose, of power held in check.
"It's... beautiful," Kaelen whispered, awestruck.
"It is truth," the Warden corrected. "Now, find the flaw."
"Flaw?"
"Nothing crafted is perfect. Not even this place. There is a hairline fracture three paces to your left, born from the last age of ice. Find it. Not with your eyes. With your song."
This was different. This was active listening. Kaelen turned his attention to the area the Warden indicated. He let his awareness drift over the seamless black surface, searching for a discord. It was like trying to spot a single cracked string on a massive harp by sound alone. He searched for what felt like an hour, finding nothing but the Anvil's perfect harmony.
Frustration began to itch at him. He was about to give up when he felt it—a tiny, almost imperceptible catch in the music. A note that was ever so slightly flat, a vibration that was a fraction weaker than its surroundings.
"There," Kaelen said, pointing with his eyes still closed. "It's thin. Like a thread about to snap."
"Good," the Warden's voice held a hint of approval. "You have found the silence within the song. That is the First Note. Now, open your eyes."
Kaelen did. He was pointing directly at a section of the floor that looked exactly the same as the rest.
"The Weaver who is only a hammer sees only what is broken and seeks to smash it or force it together," the Warden said. "The true Stone-Singer hears the flaw and invites it back into the song. You do not command the stone. You sing with it."
The Warden gestured for Kaelen to approach the flaw. "Now, you will mend it."
Kaelen's confidence faltered. "Here? On the Sky-Anvil? What if I break it?"
"The Anvil has endured far worse than a fledgling's first note. Do not seek to build a wall. Do not seek to create a landslide. Seek only to mend this one, silent thread. Hum the note that should be there. Let the stone provide the power. You are merely the conductor."
Kaelen knelt, placing his palms on the warm surface over the flaw. He closed his eyes again, finding that faint, discordant vibration. He remembered the feeling of mending the granary wall in Oakhaven—the gentle asking. But this was more refined. He wasn't asking the stone to do something. He was showing it the way back to wholeness.
He focused on the true, strong note of the surrounding stone. In his mind, he began to hum that note, a clear, steady tone. He visualized the silent thread beginning to vibrate in tune, the fractured weave knitting itself back into the grand pattern. He did not push his own energy into it. Instead, he opened himself, a channel, and felt the immense, gentle power of the Sky-Anvil flow through him.
It was a trickle, not a flood. A single, pure note of power.
A warmth spread from his hands, but it was the Anvil's warmth, not his own. Under his palms, he felt a subtle shift, a final, almost musical click.
He opened his eyes. The floor was still seamless. There was no visible change. But the song was perfect. The tiny silence was gone, replaced by the unbroken harmony of the whole.
He had not felt the draining exhaustion, the headache, the sympathetic pain. He felt… clear.
He looked up at the Warden, a stunned smile touching his lips for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.
The Warden's granite features did not change, but his obsidian eyes seemed to hold a deeper light. "You have sung your first true note, Kaelen. You have moved from noise to music." He pulled his staff from the floor.
"The Second Note is harder. It is the note of un-making. Not the corrupt un-making of the Blight, but the necessary un-making. The breaking of the ore to release the metal. The splitting of the stone to form the block."
The Warden pointed his staff at a small, rough-edged boulder that sat at the edge of the Anvil, a piece of raw, unincorporated mountain.
"Tomorrow, you will learn to break what is whole, without hatred, without fury. For a mender must sometimes also be a breaker."
As the twilight deepened and the Heartstone's pulse grew brighter against the star-dusted sky, Kaelen felt a profound shift. He was not just learning magic. He was learning a craft. An art. And for the first time since the hammer fell on Oakhaven, the path forward did not seem shrouded in terror, but illuminated by a single, perfectly held note.