Far above the Vault, beneath the storm-scarred skies of the ruined world, they gathered.
In the hushed remnants of Virelai's highest citadel—once the seat of power for the Ardent Choir—twelve figures cloaked in deep gray robes stood in a circle of broken glass and stone. Their faces were obscured, their bodies still, their voices long since traded for silence.
They were the last High Cantors of the Silent Choir.
The one at the center—Archcantor Veiss—raised a single hand. His fingers glowed with a pale light, drawing spirals in the air that hummed with resonance.
From the ground, a glyph flared to life: a recreation of the Vault's signature pulse. It glowed red, vibrant, erratic.
A warning.
A prophecy fulfilled.
The Ashborn had reawakened.
Veiss lowered his hand.
Another Cantor stepped forward, face still veiled.
Instead of words, they released a soft tone—pure, controlled, and piercing. It was not heard, but felt. The others answered, one by one, each harmonic binding to the last until the chamber shook with silent song.
They were not speaking.
They were voting.
And the decision was unanimous.
The Hunt would begin.
Back within the Vault of Stars, Kairo sat in meditation.
The seven fragments of the heart-crystal still hovered in stasis, gently orbiting the central platform. Each pulsed in rhythm with something ancient and distant—other Ashborn, somewhere in the world, their songs not yet fully awakened.
"I can feel them," Kairo whispered.
Yui sat cross-legged nearby, braiding a new band for her spell-satchel. "Are they close?"
"No," he said. "Scattered. Sleeping. Some of them… broken."
Aeska leaned against a fallen column, sharpening her dagger. "Then how do we reach them?"
Kairo stood, eyes distant. "We don't find them."
He reached toward the fragments—and sang.
It wasn't a song in any known language. It wasn't even words.
It was remembrance made sound. Grief and fury, sorrow and love. The voice of a boy who lost everything and rose from ash to find it again.
The Vault echoed his song, amplifying it across its spires and rivers of light.
And far across the world—beneath mountains, in old ruins, deep within broken cities—others heard it.
Eyes opened.
Marks burned.
And the Ashborn began to stir.
Suddenly, the Vault dimmed.
The air trembled.
A cold tone pierced the chamber—flat, mechanical, wrong. It came not from the Vault, but from above.
Aeska bolted upright. "We've been found."
Kairo turned toward the stairwell just as the air rippled with displacement.
A figure materialized at the top of the descending stairs—tall, robed in Choir gray, face veiled in a smooth white mask with no mouth.
The first Cantor had arrived.
Without speaking, he lifted a staff carved from choirstone and pointed it toward Yui.
She gasped and dropped to her knees, clutching her chest. Her light magic flickered and sputtered, silenced at the source.
"They can mute us," she gasped.
Kairo stepped between them, fire burning in his hands. "Then it's time we sang louder."
He charged.
The battle in the Vault began—not just blade against staff, but song against silence. Each clash of their strikes sent out pulses of power that reshaped the very space around them—stone bending to rhythm, air tightening with pressure.
The Cantor was fast—too fast—but every time he tried to suppress Kairo's voice, the mark on Kairo's back flared, resisting the silence with its own song.
Finally, Kairo struck a chord too pure to suppress.
The Cantor's mask cracked.
And with a single thrust of his flame-born spear, Kairo shattered it.
The Cantor fell, dissolving into ash.
But the Vault was no longer safe.
The Choir knew where they were. Others would come—stronger ones.
Yui steadied herself. "We have to go. We can't protect the Vault and search for the others."
Kairo stared at the fragments still floating.
"No," he said. "We take it with us."
Aeska raised a brow. "You're serious?"
He nodded. "The Vault isn't a place. It's a song. And I carry it now."
He extended his hand.
The fragments collapsed into light and sank into his mark.
The Vault flickered once, then dimmed.
The sky above cracked with thunder.
The war had begun.