The Tree of Life, an ancient tree that grew from the wounds of the world, no longer sings. The gentle hum of its roots has ceased, leaving only a silent rustle among the unseen branches. Rinoa stands alone at its heart, a place where light always comes from below, not from the sky. In the dark peace, she feels the vibrations of energy slowly fading, as if nature is mourning an unspoken loss. Every gust of wind, every sigh of the leaves seems to carry messages from another dimension, layers of time delivering voices long buried.
She reflects on the days gone by when the tree used to hum. Her heart is filled with longing, as if yearning for the melodies that once swept her soul away. "Does this have anything to do with the disharmony you feel?" she whispers to herself, trying to hear the answer in the silence. Deep down, she hopes that every sigh of the wind can summon back the melodies that once wove their souls together, a dance between spirit and nature. She senses the profound connection between herself and this tree; both are witnesses to time, suffering, and hope. The light emanating from the tree's core appears dim, like a memory trying to take form, yet obscured by a thick fog of longing.
In that stillness, she closes her eyes, allowing the flow of energy to take her deeper into the unseen realm. In an instant, ancient words begin to resonate in her mind—prospections of Proto-Speech, the language that connects spirit with the essence of nature. There, she feels every breath of this tree, like a tapestry of sound guiding her toward a deeper truth. It is not merely a message, but a universal poem spoken by living beings, a bridge between the tangible and the mystical.
She places her palm on the central root. The bark feels cold and rough, no longer welcoming as it once was. As she tries to read the vibrations of the roots, what comes forth is no longer the song of life, but rather fractured notes. In the gentle sigh of the wind, she feels as if the energy of this tree is calling her name, inviting the wounded souls to unite in a long-awaited awakening. Its aroma, like the first rain in the dry season, brings forth hazy memories while simultaneously igniting hope, albeit faint.
In that silence, she closes her eyes again, allowing memory and pain to merge. She imagines the once rhythmic voices, beginning with beautiful notes gliding among the roots, communicating with the sky and the earth. It is as if the roots are telling ancient stories, holding secrets and lessons that can only be understood by those willing to listen with their hearts. Ideally, the hidden writings of Proto-Speech could provide clues, like a secret map showing the way back to lost harmony. "What if I could call back those songs? Am I strong enough?" she thinks, her courage and doubt battling within her heart. Her curiosity is like a beam of light piercing through the darkness, striving to find a way back to the self that has long been lost.
The notes seem to have once been part of harmony, but now they clash against each other. Some rise, some sink, while others merely repeat an unfinished cry. The sequence forms a sound that is almost torturous to the mind—for it is not bad, but once beautiful and full of meaning, like a melancholic guitar strumming along to a faded love story. In this cacophony of sound, she feels the sigh of time, as if urging her to mend what has been severed and restore the flow of life energy that should harmoniously flow among all beings.
The notes seem to have once been part of harmony, but now they clash against each other. Some rise, some sink, while others merely repeat an unfinished cry. The sequence forms a sound that is almost torturous to the mind—for it is not bad, but once beautiful and now broken. In the tense silence, Rinoa feels as if a gentle wind carries whispers from afar, voices that seem to call her name, reminding her of places where ancient souls merged into an eternal melody.
Amidst this chaos, Rinoa feels a pull to delve deeper, almost like a call from the spirits trapped in disharmony. Could Proto-Speech hide a message that she needs to seek deeper meaning? The will trapped in the sky might need a human voice to release it. Hearing the last notes from the trembling branches reminds her of a blurred past, when everything was still whole and full of hope. How great a cost would she pay to reunite the scattered roots?
"This is not a magical imbalance," Rinoa tells herself.
"This is... a will that disagrees." The voice within her feels like a distant echo, piercing through the boundaries of time and dimension, inviting those souls to share the burden. The feeling of loneliness envelops her like a gray mist surrounding the ancient trees, adding weight to the unheard cries.
She steps toward the altar of roots in the center of the room, where the glyphs of Proto-Speech usually shine to guide the way. But this time, the glyphs intertwine, contradicting each other. It is as if they create a visual poem of sadness and hope, behaving moodily, challenging Rinoa to translate the darkness that surrounds her. The light that should be comforting now appears dim, vibrating like moonlight obscured by dark clouds, demanding Rinoa to find meaning behind the haunting mystery.
In that moment, Rinoa feels a tension vibrating through her spine, as if the roots surrounding her are alive and eager to convey the message trapped within them. Each heartbeat resonates in the space filled with despair and hope. The longer she stands there, the stronger she feels the subtle vibrations in the air, as if every clump of energy tied to those roots vibrates in harmony, waiting to be called upon. She closes her eyes for a moment, allowing memories to surge; the gentle voice of her mother patiently teaching her about the power of words, about how glyphs can change reality. "They are not just symbols, Rinoa. They are the soul of what we desire," she whispers in her memory. There is warmth in that recollection, a ray that dispels the dark shadows of her thoughts.
One glyph shines blue, saying:
ꦲꦩꦤ꧀ꦢꦺꦴ ꦧꦼꦣꦶꦏ꧀ — Amando Bedhik
(Awaken harmony through wounds.)
Yet the glyph beside it shines red and writes:
ꦏꦺꦴꦤ꧀ꦢꦺ ꦥꦺꦤ ꦥꦸꦱ꧀ꦠꦿꦶ — Konde Pen Pustri
(Destroy harmony, for it holds lies.)
Rinoa feels the imbalance gripping her heart. An instinct within whispers to her not just to see, but to understand. Perhaps, words are not only for expression but also for unmasking the truth that lies deeper. With a heartbeat akin to the chime of a note, she believes that every stab of heartbreak holds a power that can be used to rebuild what has been shattered.
Like roots spreading in fertile soil, her memories pull strongly into the depths of her emotions. Here, between reality and dreams, Proto-Speech unfolds; a language that whispers to the wind, lifting voices from lost souls and delivering them to the light, touching the farthest parts of the Tree of Life. Here, soul and word intertwine, creating an unspoken yet felt harmony.
The Tree of Life is breaking from within. Not due to dark magic, but because the notes within it are repelling each other. The old harmony can no longer unite the new world, and the new world does not yet fully trust the song that comes. The strings of existence vibrate in uncertainty, forming a symphony that creates a mystical sound enveloping the space, as if delivering messages from hundreds of years ago, and there Rinoa discovers that truth can be buried but will never be lost forever.
"I must create a new song," Rinoa whispers.
She sits at the center of the root altar. Her hands begin to hover in the air, calling back the pattern of Lament of Everroot. Yet, just before she spells out the notes, the surrounding silence seems to remind her of the power of Proto-Speech, the ancient language that connects everything in the universe. Every letter she touches radiates gentle energy, as if seeping into the flow of life around her. But this time, she does not repeat its original notes. She tries to alter the intervals. Raising the third note to the fifth. Changing the tempo.
In the stillness, Rinoa feels her heart beating, each pulse seemingly communicating with the life flowing from the roots around her. Behind that steady beat lies a noisy symphony unheard, something only understood by a soul connected to nature. She recalls her soft steps in a garden filled with color and hope, where every melody has its own story. Now, she strives to revive the lost voice, even though she knows that this symphony may carry a heavier burden.
Yet every time she begins to flow, the roots respond with pain. It is as if every vibration she emits touches a wound, stirring trauma trapped in the memories of life. The light of the roots pulses red, and wounds open along the walls. Each wound, each pulse, seems to tell the story of a buried struggle, one that can only be expressed through the song of the soul.
Rinoa moans. Then, a shadow from the past appears in her mind: the moments when she stood at the edge of a waterfall, hearing the echo of falling water, feeling that every beat was a call to unite. In that memory, the sound of flowing water resonates sweetly, saying that there is no beauty without suffering. How can she unite the harmony of this wounded nature when she herself is in the midst of a battle between desire and reality?
"Why can't I…?"
The roots respond with a deep voice:
"Because you are trying to unite wounds with hopes that do not yet exist."
Amidst the noisy clamor of the roots and the pulsing pain, Rinoa feels confused. The voice within her, which should guide her, now feels like a never-ending labyrinth. She takes a deep breath, allowing fresh air to seep in as new energy. In that moment, Rinoa promises herself not only to rely on magical strength but also to explore the depths of feeling within her. To create a symphony of the universe, where every note carries hope, even if it must traverse a dark corridor before finding the light.
As if among those voices, the whisper of the wind gently calls, carrying whispers from a distant past. Rinoa feels that every trembling leaf holds a buried story, a legacy from souls that once joined in an unbroken bond with the Tree of Life. In this mystical atmosphere, she understands that the journey is not just about entering magical dimensions, but also about experiencing every feeling and knowledge born from the collaboration between humanity and nature.
Rinoa gasps. Her body begins to sweat, not from heat, but because the voice within herself is starting to crack. She hears two versions of herself speaking:
"You do not deserve to carry the name Sheena."
"If you fail, all will of will collapse."
As those voices echo in her head, Rinoa feels the weight of hope used to survive in the Tree of Life; that hope now feels like shackles. She longs for the moments when beauty met unity—when she felt the rhythm of life flowing gently through her fingers, like dancing on the strings of a harp. How could she possibly reach back to that beauty while every note within her struggles to tear apart the silence? In that quiet, the bell of uncertainty tolls, signaling how far she is from her true self.
In the thick silence that seems to envelop her, Rinoa remembers the stillness of the night under the moonlight. The ancient trees around her, with roots intertwining like fingers grasping the sky, seem to bless every step she takes. Every gust of wind that passes seems to convey messages from another world, inviting lost souls to return to the embrace of nature. Those voices, though frightening, also reflect a deep longing—a longing to be understood and acknowledged.
"You are merely a shadow of unfinished love."
"You are just a replacement."
Those voices are not from outside. They are a series of notes within her soul—possibilities once denied, now emerging because she is trying to rearrange the world without uniting herself. In that silent second, Rinoa feels a memory of beautiful moments with her friends beneath the ancient tree in the heart of the Tree of Life. This is the place where the world begins and ends, and where every falling leaf celebrates a cycle inseparable from life. They often shared stories and songs, igniting the fire of togetherness in each other's hearts. Now, all of that feels like a dispersed memory, hard to grasp again as the rejecting voices continue to demand their rights. Where are you? She asks herself, trying to find the lost trail in the chaotic orchestra of her soul.
Between doubt and hope, Rinoa hears the gentle whisper of Proto-Speech, as if those words are a mantra born from the depths of her voice. Each word spoken merges with the vibrations of energy around her, weaving magical webs that connect everything. The reflection of her soul vibrates in a dance of symbols that can only be understood by those brave enough to listen. The longing for wholeness seeps into every fiber of her consciousness, and in the flow of the gods witnessing her, she feels the call to speak again with the lost power.
"I… am afraid," Rinoa finally says.
"Afraid that this song truly belongs to me."
Yet just as she is about to give up, a small root touches her hand. The soft root seems to have a consciousness of its own, vibrating in the deep silence of the night as if waiting for an invitation to speak.
The root is young. Thin. It does not shine brightly, but calmly. And from within it, emerges a single note—a note that does not boast harmony, nor force meaning. That note simply waits to be welcomed. As if this note is a call from the universe, flowing through every particle of air, uniting in emptiness and beauty.
Rinoa cries. She knows... In her sobs, a sacred ceremony is taking place; every tear is an offering to primordial power, laughter and tears uniting in the quest for a deeper self.
In the flowing tears, there is a deeper understanding, as if the root speaks in a language etched within her soul. Amidst her breaths, Rinoa feels the subtle vibrations from the deepest place in her heart, hearing the resonance in tune with the newly discovered note. It is as if the root channels the power from the Tree of Life, connecting her with all souls that have ever existed and those yet to come. There is a tranquility enveloping her, as if all the burdens she has carried begin to lift.
"It is not I who must unite everything... but I must be willing to sing it again, even if it is just one note."
The series of fractured notes did not conclude that night. But Rinoa knows she has found the first root of a new song. With hope, she feels Proto-Speech, an ancient language that transcends words, seeping into her soul, as if awakening the dormant magical power.
In the midst of the night's brilliance, as the stars glow softly in the sky, Rinoa feels every pulse of life around the roots. It feels like undergoing an ancient ritual, where every sound, every light, and every shadow contributes to perfect harmony. In the silence, she hears the gentle whispers of the wind, as if the universe is communicating with her. She opens her eyes, and it seems every star tells her, "You are not alone, Rinoa; this is a journey we undertake together."
In the vibrating light, Rinoa also feels the presence of ancestors, spirits who once walked this land, giving strength and support to her steps. They sing old songs that resonate softly in her heartbeat, creating a symphony that connects the past and the future.
And deep within the roots, in the deepest place of the Tree of Life, the words of Proto-Speech slowly emerge:
ꦲꦏꦫ꧀ ꦧꦤꦶ ꦏꦸꦤꦺꦴ ꦥꦺꦤ —
Akara Bani Kuno Pen
(The song that endures is the song that does not force understanding.)
As if every letter of Proto-Speech is a fragment of light dancing, forming a profound meaning of construction, sacrifice, and enduring love. Rinoa feels the power flowing from that root, as if there is a bridge between everything and the unspeakable, united in a single thread of eternity that will never break.