The peace of the lake shattered with the screaming of crows.
A flock of them, their feathers not black but a sickly, iridescent grey, descended from the peaks in a chaotic cloud. They did not caw, but emitted a sharp, discordant screech that grated against the air itself. Where they passed, the pristine water of the lake dimmed, its luminous glow flickering as if under a sudden shadow.
Aeliana looked up, her serene face hardening into grim resolve. "They have found us. The Corvidae. The Blight's eyes." She turned to Kaelen, her voice urgent. "Morwen knows you are here. She would not send them otherwise. She is probing our defenses."
Kaelen watched in horror as one of the crows landed on the silver willow. The moment its claws touched the bark, the branch beneath it withered, the silver leaves curling to a brittle, grey dust. The act was not one of violent unmaking, but of a swift, insidious decay.
"The lake's song protects this place," Aeliana said, raising her hands. A shimmering dome of light, woven from the water's own glow, began to rise around the island. "But it is a song of healing, not of war. It cannot hold forever against a focused assault."
As if on cue, a new sound joined the crows' screams—a deep, resonant thrum that vibrated through the very stone of the lakebed. Across the water, on the main shore, the air shimmered and tore. A rift of sickly green energy, identical to the one that had birthed the Blight-knights in Oakhaven, ripped open in reality.
But no knights emerged.
Instead, a figure stepped through. Tall, clad in robes of deep grey, her fiery red hair a shock of color against the monochrome corruption. Morwen.
She stood at the water's edge, her presence a stain on the pristine landscape. She did not look at the dome, or at Aeliana. Her eyes, burning with a cold intensity, were fixed solely on Kaelen.
"Apprentice!" her voice carried across the water, not a shout, but a clear, penetrating force that bypassed the ears and resonated directly in the mind. "You have led me a merry chase. But all games must end." She raised a hand, and in her palm, three shards of the Sun-Crown glimmered, their combined scream a silent, psychic wave that made Kaelen flinch. "I have gathered the pieces of my brother's dream. I lack only the final few. And you… you have something I need."
She gestured, and the corrupted crows redoubled their assault, hurling themselves against Aeliana's glowing dome. With each impact, a patch of the light dimmed, and the Lady winced, the strain of maintaining the barrier evident on her face.
"The Ward of Life is strong, Aeliana," Morwen called, a note of mocking respect in her tone. "But it is passive. It was never meant to withstand a determined will. Stand aside. Give me the boy, and I will leave your little pond untouched."
"Never," Aeliana replied, her voice strained but steady. "You offer a world of silence, Morwen. That is not a gift. It is a tomb."
"Then you will entomb yourself with your ideals," Morwen snarled.
She clenched her fist. The three shards in her hand flared, and a beam of concentrated dissonance—the very essence of the shattered Crown—lanced out. It struck Aeliana's dome not with brute force, but with a terrifying precision. It didn't try to break it. It began to unweave it.
Kaelen watched, helpless, as the beautifully complex song of Aeliana's ward began to fray. Threads of golden light snapped, their melody dying mid-note. The dome flickered, growing thinner. The crows pressed their advantage, their screeching now a sound of triumph.
He had to do something. He was a Stone-Singer. This was a battle of light and life, realms far beyond his craft. He looked at the survivors, their faces etched with a fresh, familiar terror. He saw Elara, her hand gripping Roric's arm, both of them watching him, waiting for him to be the pillar.
The old instinct rose—to stand firm, to endure, to be the anvil.
But Aeliana's words echoed in his mind. You are a thread in a tapestry.
He was not a pillar. He could not hold this up alone.
"Elara! Roric!" he yelled, his voice cutting through the chaos. "The song! You have to help her!"
They stared at him, bewildered. "How?" Elara cried. "We can't sing like you!"
"You don't need to!" He turned to the entire group, his gaze sweeping over them. "Remember Oakhaven! Remember the warmth of the forge, the taste of fresh bread, the sound of the river! Remember Finn's sacrifice! Remember why you chose to leave the cavern! Remember life!"
It was a desperate, crazy gamble. But he had seen Aeliana's power. It was fed by life, by memory, by love.
He turned back to the fraying dome, placed his hands on the ground, and did the only thing he could. He did not try to reinforce the dome of light. Instead, he Sang the Third Note, the Note of Communion. But he did not sing to the stone.
He sang to his people.
He poured his awareness into them, not to control, but to connect. He gathered the fragmented, terrified melodies of their souls—Roric's stubborn courage, Elara's fierce protectiveness, the children's innocent hope, even Hemmet's desperate will to live. He wove them together, a clumsy, discordant, but powerfully human chorus.
And then, he offered this ragged, beautiful song to Aeliana.
He was a single thread, now connected to a dozen others. He was a conduit.
Aeliana, her strength nearly spent, felt the influx of raw, vibrant life energy. Her eyes widened in shock, then ignited with renewed purpose. She did not take the energy for herself. She used it as a new source of thread.
Her hands flew up. The fraying dome blazed with a new, defiant light, no longer just gold and blue, but shot through with the silver of hope, the green of resilience, the red of courage. It was no longer just Aeliana's song.
It was their song.
Morwen's beam of dissonance recoiled, unable to unravel a melody that was now being sung by a chorus. The crows shrieked in frustration.
For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty crossed Morwen's face. She looked from Aeliana to Kaelen, and for a single, fleeting moment, he saw not a monster, but a confused and deeply wounded woman, confronted by a power she could not comprehend—the power of a community.
The moment passed. Her expression hardened into fury. "A clever trick," she spat. "But a tapestry can still be burned."
She gathered her power for another, more devastating strike. But the brief respite had cost her. The rift behind her flickered, unstable.
Kaelen knew they had bought a moment, not victory. The dome would not hold. Morwen was too strong.
He met Aeliana's gaze. Her eyes held a silent message, an order, and a blessing.
It is time. You must go.
The final part of their plan, unspoken until now, had to be activated. Their stand here was a diversion. The real battle lay elsewhere.
As Morwen unleashed her next assault, Kaelen grabbed Elara's hand. "Now!" he yelled to Roric. "The boat!"
While the dome of light flared under the renewed attack, the small, hidden boat Aeliana had shown them was pushed into the water. It was their escape, their path to the next, and final, stage of their journey. The true battle for the song of the world was just beginning, and it would not be fought here, in this sanctuary.
It would be fought in the heart of the silence itself.