They rose before the sun crested the cliffs, their breath misting in the cold air. Snow had fallen during the night—light, feathery drifts blanketing the trail and softening the sharpness of the Hollow Spine. Maelis stood silently at the grotto's edge, her staff planted firmly, her robes billowing with the mountain wind like a banner woven from shadow and starlight.
Kaelen joined her, rubbing warmth into his fingers. "You said the path was hidden. How do we find it?"
Maelis gestured to the high ridge above them. "It's not found. It's remembered."
Nyessa frowned as she approached, fastening her cloak. "More riddles?"
"Not this time," Maelis said. "This one requires something simpler: stillness."
She knelt and touched her palm to the frost-laced stone. The crystal at the head of her staff pulsed once—then again. And then… sound. Faint. Deep. Like a single note played on a string woven through the bones of the world.
Stone shifted.
The cliff ahead split, silently, as if it had always been waiting. A seam of light ran down its center, revealing a narrow passage between walls of dark crystal. The air that poured out was warm and sweet, laced with old incense and something older still—like the scent of parchment and rain before it falls.
Kaelen stared. "Is that it?"
Maelis stood. "Welcome to the Threshold."
They entered single file, Nyessa trailing cautiously behind, her hand never far from her blade. Kaelen kept the echo shard close to his chest. As they passed beneath the stone arch, it shimmered, and a brief hum echoed through his bones. Recognition.
The corridor narrowed, then widened into an open hall carved from volcanic glass. Thin lines of glowing crystal marked the walls like veins of light. The air was full of quiet—not silence, but a deliberate hush, like the pause before a hymn. As they moved forward, the walls began to sing.
Not loudly. Not in words. Just gentle harmonic threads, each one faintly different. High, low, bright, soft. A chorus made of countless memories, all layered into one song that never ended.
Kaelen slowed, overwhelmed. "What is this?"
Maelis turned, her eyes solemn. "This is the Song of the Forgotten. Every person who has passed through this place left something behind. A name. A sorrow. A hope. The Sanctuary holds it all."
Nyessa's eyes narrowed. "Is that… safe?"
"No," Maelis said honestly. "But it is sacred."
They walked for a long time. The corridors turned into tunnels, the tunnels into chambers, and the chambers into vast caverns where waterfalls cascaded down crystal spires and drift-lights floated like fireflies. Strange vines glowed with inner light. Here and there, other Songweavers moved like shadows—hooded figures who murmured verses to themselves or etched runes into stone walls.
Eventually, they entered a circular chamber, its floor made of interlocked discs, each bearing an ancient sigil. At its center stood a raised platform beneath a dome carved to look like a night sky.
Kaelen felt the shard in his chest pull—gently but insistently—toward that platform.
A man stood waiting.
He was impossibly old. His skin was thin as parchment and freckled with sunbursts. His robes were plain grey, but his staff was carved from living flamewood—constantly flickering, never burning. His eyes were bright silver, but it wasn't age that filled them—it was knowing. Ancient, heavy knowing.
"Kaelen," the man said. "Welcome home."
Kaelen stiffened. "You know who I am?"
"Not by name," the man replied. "But by resonance. Your thread is strong. And it sings with memory few living beings still carry. I am Eryndor. I tend the Threads here."
Kaelen stepped closer. "Do you know what this is?" He unslung the shard and held it up.
Eryndor didn't reach for it. Instead, he simply bowed his head and said, "Yes. And no. That shard is a piece of the First Thread—the one woven before stars had names. It is not merely memory. It is **intention**. Your awakening has shaken the root-chords. It's why the gods are stirring again."
"The gods?" Nyessa asked sharply. "You mean…?"
"They sleep beneath the ley," Eryndor said, eyes closed. "But dreams ripple outward. This one has begun to wake one of them."
Kaelen's mind reeled. "What does that mean for us?"
Eryndor finally looked at him. "It means your journey has only just begun."
Maelis stepped forward. "We'll need to realign his thread if he's to survive the Song that follows. He's only sung one piece."
Eryndor nodded. "Then let him rest first. And then we begin."
That evening, they were given private quarters within the **Choral Vaults**, the quietest place in the Sanctuary. Kaelen wandered, lost in thought. He passed through a garden of whispering stones, through a hallway where each footstep made a different note. The whole place felt alive, like it breathed around him.
He sat alone at the edge of a reflecting pool and stared at his reflection. The eyes looking back were no longer fully his. The lines of Aravel were etched beneath the surface. So was something older—something he couldn't name.
He heard soft footsteps and looked up to see Maelis sitting beside him.
"You didn't tell me," he said, "what your thread sings."
She smiled faintly. "A storm. A rebirth. And a betrayal."
Kaelen blinked. "Whose betrayal?"
She didn't answer right away. "Mine," she said at last. "Long ago. But that's a song for another time."
Kaelen studied her. "You could have stayed hidden."
"So could you."
He laughed quietly. "Fair."
She stood, her robes catching the moonlight. "Rest tonight. Tomorrow, we begin to teach your voice how to carry memory without breaking."
Kaelen watched her walk away, and in the silence that followed, the echo shard at his chest pulsed once—then again.
Not warning. Not danger.