The dawn after their day of rest came gently, brushed with amber light and the distant chirping of birds unafraid. Kaelen woke with dew on his cloak and warmth at his side—Nyessa, asleep still, a peacefulness in her face he'd rarely seen. The forest breathed slowly around them. No urgency yet. But something in the air whispered: **change is close**.
He sat up, stretching his limbs and easing the ache from his shoulders. The echo shard stirred faintly in his pack, warm with a low pulse like a heartbeat remembering its rhythm.
He moved to the brook to splash water on his face. His reflection in the stream caught him by surprise. The elf he was now still startled him sometimes—especially when emotion colored his eyes with a golden sheen. **Power**, the shard seemed to whisper. Or perhaps **awakening**.
Behind him, a twig snapped. He turned quickly—hand on the hilt at his side—but stopped when he saw Nyessa rising to her feet, hand already near her blade.
"I heard it too," she said quietly.
Another footstep. This one deliberate. Graceful.
They turned as one, watching the treeline.
Out from between the trees stepped a woman who did not belong to the waking world.
She was tall and slender, her skin pale as birch bark. Her long silver hair was intricately braided, each twist woven with faintly glowing threads of starlight. Her robes shimmered in shifting hues of twilight—deep lavender and soft blue, stitched with sigils so fine they seemed to move as she breathed. A staff was in her hand, dark wood crowned with a crystal that pulsed gently with a golden light.
She stopped at the edge of the clearing and lowered her hood.
"I am Maelis of the Sanctuary," she said, her voice low and melodic, as though she were not speaking so much as **singing a truth**. "I followed your song."
Kaelen's hand remained on his weapon, but his tension eased.
"The Sanctuary of Broken Songs?" he asked.
She nodded once. "Your awakening has stirred the Deep Thread. The oldest echoes. There are those who listen still—and I am one of them."
Nyessa stepped forward warily. "Why come to us?"
"I didn't choose to," Maelis said, eyes flicking toward the echo shard slung at Kaelen's side. "The shard called. And so did you—though you did not know it."
There was no arrogance in her tone. Only quiet certainty.
Kaelen glanced at Nyessa. She didn't drop her guard, but after a moment, she nodded subtly. **Let her speak.**
Maelis moved closer, stepping lightly across the moss. "The Sanctuary felt your crossing. The ritual. The awakening at Thalara. When you sang the forest's memory yesterday, it reached us—faint, but true. Echoes like that don't go unnoticed by those who serve the Song."
"You heard me?" Kaelen asked, confused.
"We heard your **thread** resonate," Maelis replied. "The Song isn't only sound. It's memory woven in truth. And the shard you carry? It amplifies it. Every note you sing with intention ripples backward and forward."
She knelt beside the firepit and placed a small stone from her satchel into the coals. The moment it touched, flames leapt softly to life—not hot, but golden.
"It's called hearth-stone," she said. "Old magic. You've drawn attention, Kaelen. Not all of it kind."
He felt that flicker of unease return. "So you've come to warn us?"
"To guide you," Maelis answered. "If I can. The Sanctuary believes your path leads toward the **Threadweft**, the oldest lattice of the world. The Echo-Scribe is preparing. But the path there is broken. I'll take you as far as the threshold, if you'll trust me."
Nyessa finally sheathed her blade. "You know the Hollow Spine passes?"
"I've crossed them four times," Maelis said. "Blindfolded, once."
Kaelen raised a brow.
Maelis smiled faintly. "It was a ritual. We do odd things to make sure the right notes survive."
They packed their camp quickly. As they walked, Maelis explained more of the **Sanctuary**—a hidden refuge built into a shattered glacier in the Hollow Spine Mountains. It was once a temple for those who listened to the world's oldest Songs: melodies left behind by stars, oceans, dying gods. It had since become home to the Songweavers, who preserved the fragments of time.
"We don't just remember the past," she said as they passed beneath an arch of mossy stone. "We live within it, in slivers. When a melody is strong enough, it echoes through time."
"And you think the shard is waking those echoes," Kaelen said.
She nodded. "And reshaping them."
The trail climbed steadily, curving up into the Spine foothills. The trees thinned. Light filtered in colder here, casting long shadows even at noon. Snow lingered on high branches.
By late afternoon, Maelis paused at the edge of a ridge and held up her staff. The crystal pulsed, and suddenly the rock face ahead shimmered. A hidden trail appeared—one etched with old runes and Song lines, only visible to those who carried a piece of memory in their blood.
"This is the Path of Starsong," she said softly. "Only those who have truly remembered may walk it."
Kaelen stepped forward and felt a tug—not painful, but weighty—at the shard near his chest. When his foot touched the path, the echo shimmered.
A soft chord echoed across the trees.
Maelis looked at him, eyes glowing faintly. "You're farther along than you know."
They hiked the trail as light faded. Frost-lilies bloomed in the crags. Shadows of winged creatures crossed the cliffs above—dormant, watching.
When night fell, they made camp in a natural stone grotto overlooking the valley. The wind howled through the peaks, but the hearth-stone warmed the space with golden light.
After they ate, Maelis sat across from them and removed a delicate instrument from her satchel. It looked like a harp built for whispers—strings of woven silverthread and crystal.
"This is a **threadharp**," she said. "Each string is tuned to a memory. Would you like to hear?"
Kaelen nodded slowly.
Maelis plucked a string.
And the grotto was filled with a voice—not hers, but someone else's. A girl, laughing. Then a man whispering an ancient promise. A lullaby hummed by a mother in a city lost to time. One by one, she played memories as music, and each song felt more real than the last.
Nyessa's eyes were damp by the third note. Kaelen's hands clenched without knowing why.
"You've walked these songs before," Maelis said. "Or Aravel did. They remember you. Even if you don't."
When the last note faded, silence filled the cavern like a blanket.
That night, as Kaelen lay beside Nyessa, listening to the wind, he asked:
"Why me?"
The wind answered nothing. But the shard pulsed once.