The corridor into the Core was shaped like a spiraled cochlea—a slow descent through narrowing acoustics. The walls pulsed in measured intervals, responding not to light, but to the micro-sounds of breath and heartbeat. Every whisper, every blink, even the pressure of one's thoughts, played a part in shaping the resonance.
Kaero walked slightly behind Aouli, eyes fixed forward but jaw clenched.
"You know what this feels like?" he muttered.
Aouli didn't turn. "A throat."
Kaero snorted. "Was going to say an interrogation chamber with extra steps."
The floor underfoot hummed with each step they took, storing sonic signatures, creating harmonies—or disharmonies—in response.
As they reached the final curve, a large membrane-like wall pulsed before them. No door. No opening.
Aver, behind them, lifted both hands.
A clear tone rang out from his chest—flawless, unwavering.
The membrane rippled once.
Then dissolved.
The Echo Parliament chamber was nothing like the crystal theater before.
This space was matte. No reflective surfaces. No shimmer. Only a great amphitheater of smooth black stone shaped like a conch shell, folding inward toward a central pedestal of petrified wood. Around the perimeter, thirty-two Echoes sat in suspended stillness, each with a differently tuned orb floating before them.
These were the Toneholders.
Keepers of Resonatia's song.
Their robes were not decorative. They were harmonic instruments—layers of living thread that shifted pitch based on thought, not touch.
The moment Aouli stepped inside, half the orbs began to resonate. The sound was not melodic. It was uncertain. Curious. Slightly off-key.
Kaero flinched. "They're already inside our frequencies."
A toneholder in the front row spoke, voice emerging through her orb like a flute being exhaled rather than played.
"Light-form, you carry unstable harmony."
"I carry Gaia's seed," Aouli said. "And others. I've passed through three worlds. I've not broken any of them."
"Yet each broke something inside you."
A second orb joined in—lower, deeper, like breath between piano chords.
"You must be tuned. Not as machine. As memory."
Aouli stepped onto the central pedestal.
Instantly, thin lines of sound-thread attached to his limbs, torso, and head—gentle, but firm.
The Toneholders hummed in unison.
A pattern formed—an auditory field that began sifting through Aouli's experiences.
The soundfield surrounded him, not reading words or emotions, but resonance.
With every memory, a note.
With every doubt, a discord.
He heard his first breath outside Gaia.
He heard Elysia's voice refracted into a thousand overlapping harmonics.
He heard Kaero's scream in the broken loop of memory.
He heard his own silence.
Then came the dissonance.
Not from him.
From Kaero.
The threads attached to the scavenger flared unexpectedly, bouncing off his body like magnets repelled. The orbs reacted with sharp, stuttering tones.
Kaero winced, grabbing his head. "Stop—whatever this is—stop it—"
Aouli looked up. "Let me do it."
The parliament hesitated.
Then released Kaero.
Aouli raised his hands.
And sang.
Not with words.
With memory.
He took everything—every journey, every fear, every impossible contradiction—and let them vibrate from his chest like light tuned into music.
The chamber stilled.
His tone wasn't perfect.
It cracked in places.
It wavered.
It felt.
That, it turned out, was enough.
The orbs calmed.
The threads receded.
A long silence followed.
Then a high, single chime sounded from above.
The highest tone.
The approval tone.
"Harmonic accepted."
Aouli exhaled.
But the relief was short-lived.
Kaero still stood back, breath ragged, hands on his knees.
His orb was still resonating.
Then it spoke.
In Kaero's voice.
"You should've let the world die. One clean cut. One truth."
Aouli's blood chilled.
Kaero stared at the orb.
He didn't deny it.
Didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
Only whispered: "I know."
The chamber fell silent again.
Then a new tone emerged.
Not dissonance.
Not approval.
Something else.
Something watching.
Waiting.
A pulse from the deep—a call not yet answered.
And the Echoes turned in unison.
Toward the source.