Chapter Five: Shadows Before the Spark
Part Four – Squad Synergy Moment
Date: Maelis 27, Year 204 PCR
Location: Caervale Ridge – Shattered Pulsewar Basin
Time: 04:23 Veil Standard
The pulsefield collapsed into chaos.
Dirge-born Riftborn surged across the shattered basin, each shrieking in distorted harmony, each form warped by corrupted memory. The Choir had not simply summoned monsters—they'd composed a symphony of destruction. And Thrynn was their conductor.
But for the first time—
They were not alone.
All three Resonant squads—Legato, Cantare, and Staccato—now stood in formation.
Buta's voice echoed in Zephryn's memory:
"No one survives alone. Your power is incomplete—until you learn the rhythm of others."
—
Legato Unit was the first to respond.
Selka surged forward, blade humming in her grip—not with elemental charge, but resonance tension. She flicked her wrist, and her weapon bloomed outward into its dual-phase form: Veilring Bloom. It split mid-air into two arched crescents of polished crystalsteel, orbiting her like petals guided by pulse. As she moved, they cut down two Dirgeborn in a spiral arc, slicing through their memory-thread bodies before they could reform.
Zephryn followed close behind, but did not cast. His glyph hovered beside him, pulsing in reaction to Selka's rhythm. Instead of initiating, he followed, synchronizing his presence with hers. His memory-pulse flared once, then folded inward—waiting. Learning. Remembering.
Kaelen covered the flank, halberd sweeping in wide arcs. Though his pulse sync had partially destabilized, he used it to his advantage. His attacks came in unpredictable bursts—flickering in and out of resonance like a heartbeat skipping every other measure. Each strike fractured air, not just ground, causing shockwaves that disrupted the Riftborn's humlines.
Yolti, silent until now, dropped to one knee and spread her arms. A thin barrier of light began to rise—not instantly, not perfectly. It formed itself slowly, like an idea gathering the courage to be believed. Her light was soft, but it did not bend. As the Dirgeborn advanced, their attacks met her wall—and bounced like broken notes rejected by the score.
—
Staccato Unit hit from the ridge.
Mino called it mid-dive.
"Cut south. Edge-line pattern. Follow my chord!"
Torr shot down the slope, pulse flaring around his fists. His weaponless style was unorthodox—but effective. He punched a Riftborn in the chest, and instead of launching it backward, the impact reversed its humline—turning the creature inside out as it vanished into echo-static.
Rhea flanked opposite, using dual blades marked with half-formed glyphs. Her movements were jagged, not elegant, but unpredictable. She didn't need style—she needed impact. Each strike echoed with unfinished rhythm, forcing the Riftborn to react too early, stumble mid-pattern, and falter.
Mino himself kept high ground, casting glyphs mid-motion—moving glyphs, his specialty. Unlike Zephryn, he wasn't remembering glyphs—he was re-writing them in real-time. His spiral technique layered protective wards under the feet of the other squads as they fought, giving them footing across the unstable basin.
When three Dirgeborn broke past Legato's line, Mino dropped his most precise cast yet—a glyph that absorbed sound. The area went mute.
The Riftborn froze.
And Selka carved through them, silent as falling ash.
—
Cantare Unit entered from the east as Medic, but moved like a unit born for battle.
Sylie didn't wait for permission. She read the terrain in seconds, drew two fracture pins from her waist, and threw them into the sky. Each pin erupted into a wide net of light—a capture field. The nets didn't restrain bodies. They restrained songs.
As the Riftborn tried to cast more harmonic dissonance, their voices were caught in mid-air.
Luma and Elari, supporting Nima, moved in tandem. Despite Luma's injury, her pulse flickered and laced through Elari's own, allowing them to co-cast. A beam of light threaded through their joined glyphs, striking Thrynn's extended hand and forcing him to pull back—not in pain, but in irritation.
He turned.
And smiled.
"You're beginning to play back," he said.
—
Zephryn stepped forward again.
Still not casting.
The ∞ glyph shimmered beside him, its curve pulsing in tune with every squad's movements.
And finally—
He saw it.
The rhythm.
Each unit had a tempo. Each fighter had a key.
Selka—cutting in harmonic 5ths.
Kaelen—pulsing off-measure, counter-rhythm 3/4.
Yolti—holding tone in stable 2/2.
Torr—staccato bursts in rhythmic 7s.
Sylie—triad patterns binding inverse humlines.
Mino—waltzing in protective arcs, rewriting time in 3-beat loops.
Elari and Luma—syncopated chordcasts, unpracticed but raw.
And Zephryn's pulse…
It didn't match any of them.
It mirrored all of them.
He closed his eyes.
And let the glyph respond.
—
A new hum echoed from his glyph—not a cast.
A reflection.
Each squad felt their rhythm deepen. Their own pulse sharpened. Their movements tightened. The glyph wasn't directing them.
It was remembering them.
Giving back everything they had forgotten they could be.
—
Thrynn finally moved.
No more smiling.
He dropped his hand.
The Riftborn all stilled.
And in that silence, he whispered:
"Let's see if your song survives the Reversal."
He raised a finger.
And the sky cracked.