The dawn chorus on the Sky-Anvil was not one of birds, but of light. The first rays of sun struck the peaks, and the Heartstone answered, its internal glow brightening from a deep, nocturnal thrum to a vibrant, waking pulse. Kaelen awoke not from sleep, but from a deep, meditative trance where the stone's song had been his lullaby. He felt rested in a way he hadn't since childhood, his mind quiet, his body humming with borrowed stability.
The Warden was already waiting, standing beside the rough, table-sized boulder from the night before. In the clear light of day, Kaelen could see it was a piece of common granite, flecked with mica and quartz, its song a rugged, unrefined melody compared to the polished symphony of the Anvil.
"The First Note was acceptance," the Warden's voice resonated in his mind. "To hear the song and join it. The Second Note is distinction. To understand that a thing can be part of the whole, yet must be separated from it to fulfill its purpose."
Kaelen approached, yesterday's success making him bold. "You said it was the note of un-making."
"Necessary un-making," the Warden corrected, his obsidian gaze sharp. "The Blight unmakes from a place of hatred for what is. It seeks silence. The Stone-Singer unmakes from a place of love for what could be. You would not shatter a block to make gravel. You cleave it to create a cornerstone. Intent is the chisel. Your will is the hammer. The stone's own song is the force that guides the break."
He gestured to the boulder. "This stone's purpose is not to sit here. Its song is incomplete. It yearns to be part of a wall, a hearth, a foundation. Your task is to release it. To divide it once, cleanly, along the path of its own greatest weakness."
Kaelen placed his hands on the boulder. It felt solid, stubborn. Its song was a dense, complex chord. Finding a single, silent flaw as he had yesterday was one thing. Finding the one plane along which this entire mass wanted to separate was another.
"Listen past its strength," the Warden guided. "Listen for its secret. Every stone has one. A memory of the pressure that formed it, a fault line from a forgotten quake. Find the seam in its soul."
Kaelen closed his eyes, sinking his awareness into the granite. He felt its immense cohesion, the interlocking strength of a million mineral grains. He pushed deeper, past the surface melody, into the history held within. He felt the ghost of tremendous heat and pressure, the slow, patient cooling. And there, like a forgotten whisper, he found it: a plane of latent weakness, a subtle difference in the grain, a potential that was waiting for a catalyst.
It wasn't a flaw. It was a destiny.
"Now," the Warden's voice was a soft command. "Do not strike it. Invite it. Sing the note of its potential. Show it the two songs it contains—the song of the block, and the song of the slab. Hum the note of separation."
Kaelen focused on that hidden seam. He held the image of the boulder in his mind, and then visualized it cleanly divided, revealing two fresh, flat faces. He didn't force the image. He offered it, like a suggestion. He began to hum, not the unified song of the boulder, but the two distinct melodies that lay trapped within it.
He felt a resistance. The stone's inherent desire to remain whole. It was a powerful, ancient instinct.
Its purpose is not to sit here, Kaelen thought, pouring the concept into his mental song. It is to be a cornerstone. To bear weight. To shelter.
He shifted his intent from breaking to releasing.
A vibration started deep within the boulder, a sympathetic resonance with his own focused will. The granules of quartz along the hidden seam began to shiver, their frequency shifting. A fine, almost invisible crack appeared, not jagged, but straight as a blade's edge. It wasn't being torn apart; it was being gently persuaded to become two.
With a sound like a giant's sigh, a clean, deep crack echoed across the Anvil. The boulder split perfectly in half, the two new faces smooth and flat, as if polished by a master mason. The two halves settled, their songs now distinct, yet harmonious with each other and the whole of the mountain.
Kaelen stepped back, breathless. He had broken a stone, but he felt no violence in his soul. He felt only a profound sense of rightness, of order imposed. It was the most controlled, precise act of his life.
The Warden nodded, a minute dip of his stony chin. "You see the difference. The Blight shatters the singer and the song. You have honored both." He pointed his staff at the two halves. "The First Note mends. The Second Note shapes. With these two notes, civilizations were raised from the earth."
For the rest of the day, the Warden had him practice. Not on the sacred Anvil, but on other raw stones brought to its edge. Kaelen learned to find the hidden seams, to sing the notes of separation. He split stones into blocks, into tiles, into thin slates. Each success was cleaner, requiring less conscious effort, more a act of intuitive cooperation with the stone.
As the sun began to set, painting the peaks in fiery hues, Kaelen stood amidst a neat pile of shaped stone, his body tired but his spirit soaring. He looked at his hands—the hands that had caused a landslide of destruction and were now learning the art of precise creation.
The Warden approached, following his gaze. "The power has not changed, Kaelen. The hand that wields it has. You are learning the difference between the hammer that destroys and the chisel that reveals the form within. Remember this feeling. For the greatest test of a Stone-Singer is not to break his enemy, but to shape the world around him without losing his own form in the process."
The words settled over Kaelen, heavier than the stone he had shaped. The power was seductive in its control. The whisper of the Blight, the promise of easy, destructive power, suddenly felt cheap and clumsy compared to the profound satisfaction of this creation.
He had learned two notes. He had a lifetime of music yet to learn. And for the first time, he was eager for the lesson.