Zeigdrift stepped cautiously along the outskirts of the Aerosong Plains.
Tall grass swayed under a restless wind, carrying distant echoes of unseen wings and faint metallic clicks.
The plains stretched endlessly, barren of human settlements or creatures like him. Footprints of any intelligent life had long been erased by the ever-shifting wind.
He knew this territory well—he had survived here since the old man's passing, but the further he walked, the more he felt the air tighten. The wind itself seemed to hum a warning, a subtle vibration beneath his feet.
Beyond this point lay the heart of the Vexlings' territory. Dissonants prowled here: rendmaws, vexlings, chimerics. The creatures had sharp, unnatural forms, some bristling with twisted spines, others with lithe, inhuman agility. Their eyes glimmered intelligence and malice alike, marking them as the apex predators of these plains.
Yet, strangely, none of them approached him. They lingered in the distance, hiding behind jagged rocks or burrowing in the grass, uneasy in his presence. Zeigdrift had no awakened Resonant powers. He had not even touched his latent frequency. And yet… they avoided him.
He had often wondered why.
He paused, kneeling to adjust his worn satchel, and recalled a fragment of the old man's words: "Sometimes, a Resonant is born even before they know it. The world recognizes them before their own soul does."
He wondered for a second, trying to decipher the meaning of the old man's words.
But before he could grasp the idea, suddenly…
A ripple of wind passed through the plains, carrying a distant sound, low and resonant. Zeigdrift froze. The sound was deliberate, controlled, and yet… unnervingly powerful.
Then he saw him.
A figure, cloaked in shadow and flowing dark fabric, moved through the grass with measured grace.
'A Resonant?'
Zeigdrift's heart thudded. He had never seen a Resonant of such presence before. Though of course he had only seen one Resonant before this one. The figure carried a staff, its tip glinting faintly with an energy he could not name. The air around it hummed in subtle waves, like strings vibrating under an unseen hand.
The cloaked man raised the staff, and the wind itself seemed to twist around him.
A blade of pure energy formed, hovering near his hand, slicing through the thick air with precision. Zeigdrift noticed how carefully each motion was calculated, yet fluid, natural—like a song performed perfectly from memory.
Frequency, he realized. The energy that flowed through the world, present in every creature and every inch of the land, now made visible in the cloaked man's Resonant Art.
The cloaked man's eyes, dark and sharp beneath the hood, scanned the territory. He sang softly, a husky, deep voice that carried across the plains:
Sword Rift – 1st Tempo: Lacerating Crescendo
Five shimmering blades emerged, orbiting the cloaked man in a synchronized dance. They moved with a rhythm, cutting through the grass without disturbing it, then extended forward, striking a group of vexlings with deadly precision.
Zeigdrift held his breath. He had never witnessed such a thing. Each blade seemed alive, guided by a mind beyond ordinary comprehension, yet bound by the Resonant's will.
A low growl erupted from the vexlings. They leapt, twisted, and collided with the energy blades, disintegrating into sparks of light that fused with the cloaked man's aura. He absorbed them seamlessly, his presence growing heavier, more imposing.
Zeigdrift's mind raced.
'How is he doing that? Even without my powers, I can tell he's strong. Wait scratch that, in the first place why does he use a staff when his resonance arts revolves around swords? This guy's a weird one'
The cloaked man paused, surveying the horizon. Zeigdrift ducked behind a jagged rock, his pulse quickened. He did not yet understand what it was about him that made Dissonants wary, but instinct screamed caution.
For the first time in months, he felt an unfamiliar pull—a mixture of awe and fear.
The man's staff glinted as he adjusted his stance. Small cuts ran along his forearms and hands, faint streaks of blood visible even beneath the cloak. Zeigdrift noted the subtle side effects. Every Resonant, he realized, paid a price.
The cloaked man's gaze shifted subtly, and for a heartbeat, it landed directly on Zeigdrift. The boy froze, unsure if he had been seen.
The plains were silent except for the hum of Frequency vibrating faintly under his feet. And then the cloaked man's voice, low, almost a whisper, drifted in the wind.
"Interesting… a human wandering here alone."
Zeigdrift's chest tightened. He had survived these plains without his powers, yet now, it seemed, a true Resonant had taken notice.