The bells in Ariathal just wouldn't quit. You could still hear them echoing, even out here, where Maelin and Kaelen had staked their little camp at the city's ragged edge. Their fire was barely more than a handful of embers, but after days of nothing but clouds and rain, even that tiny warmth felt like a small miracle.
Three members from the Choir, back in the fold.
Three shards of harmony, reclaimed.
And Maelin? She just felt heavier. Like she was carrying the whole damn night sky on her back.
She stared at her battered old star map, smoothing it across her knees. The constellation of the Whisper looked different now—three of its stars pulsing with a weird, quiet light. The rest? One flickered like it was about to die out. Another blinked like a nervous heartbeat. And the last one—dead black, not a glimmer.
Kaelen sat across from her, dragging a whetstone along his knife, but honestly, he was a hundred miles away in his head.
"You ever wonder if we're just… too late?" Maelin blurted, barely louder than the fire.
Kaelen froze mid-sharpen. "Too late for what?"
She shrugged, waving at the map, at the stars, at everything. "For the Choir. For the world. For… whatever this is supposed to be. What if the Whisper isn't about hope at all? What if it's a warning? Like, end-of-everything style?"
He set his blade aside, all pretense of calm gone.
"Maelin, you changed the fates of three fallen gods. That's not what collapse looks like. That's… hell, that's resurrection."
She just kept staring at the flames. "But what if the rest are out of reach? What if I can't do it?"
Kaelen leaned in, all intensity. "You found Tharos—he torched everything he cared about, and still, you got through to him. Liora was basically entombed in silence and you woke her up. Serai wanted to forget the world existed, and you made her want to remember. That's not nothing."
His hand covered hers, warm and steady.
"You're not just reviving their music. You're stitching your own damn melody into it."
Then—because fate is a drama queen—a gust of wind whipped through the trees. But it wasn't just wind. There was… something folded into it. A weird hum, not quite music, not quite noise. Definitely not friendly.
Kaelen was on his feet in a heartbeat. "That's… off."
Maelin scrambled to gather her map, the fire sputtering lower.
And then from the pitch-black woods, a figure stepped out. Tall. Cloaked. Face hidden deep in a hood. When they spoke, their voice echoed in a way that felt wrong, like it wasn't just one person talking.
"The next will not be so easily moved. She remembers only rage."
Maelin squared her shoulders. "Alright, creepy stranger, who the hell are you?"
The figure tilted their head, enough for a pair of eyes to catch the firelight—glowing, not quite human, not quite divine.
"I am the Harbinger. I serve the Unbound Note."
Kaelen's sword was out faster than reason. "That name's supposed to be sealed. Locked up for good."
The Harbinger smiled—if you can call that broken, twisted thing a smile.
"Not anymore. The Choir's return has stirred up more than hope. She's awake now."
Just like that—poof—the figure melted into mist.
Silence. But not the same kind of silence as before. This one had teeth.
Maelin looked up. The stars had shifted. She felt it. Something in the world had tilted.
And, oh boy, she just knew it—the next Choir member wasn't gonna want to be rescued. Not one bit.