Days passed inside the glittering, cacophonous woods. Kael learned its rhythms, just as he had learned the rhythms of the wastes. The constant chiming, which had at first been a disorienting wall of noise, slowly resolved itself in his mind. He learned to listen through the chaos, to pick out the subtle shifts in tone that signaled a change in the wind, or the heavier, duller chimes that meant a large creature was moving nearby.
The forest's fauna was as strange as its flora. He hunted skittish, bird-like Echoes made of clear, faceted crystal that flitted between the high branches. Their calls were sharp, flute-like notes that became a part of the forest's endless song. They were difficult to hunt, but Kael was becoming adept with his power, using short, sharp pulses of dissonance to shatter a single crystal branch and send a creature tumbling to the ground. It was a grim, but necessary, way of life.
He was stalking one such creature, his focus narrowed on its perch high in a sea-green spire, when he heard it. Another sound. A sound that did not belong to the wild, chaotic symphony of the Chime-Wood. It was a single, low, sustained hum, steady and controlled. It was a human sound. It was the sound of a Resonator.
Kael's blood ran cold. He dropped into a low crouch instantly, melting into the deep shadows cast by a large crystal trunk. His hand went to the Jag-Wolf fang at his belt, his thumb resting on the hilt. His mind flashed back to the Wardens of Lumina, their proud, rigid postures, their judgmental eyes. He was a heretic, a thief, an outcast. An encounter with a Resonator could only mean trouble.
He crept forward, his movements silent, using the constant chiming of the forest to mask the sound of his own footsteps. He peered through a thicket of sharp, crystalline foliage and saw him.
An old man was sitting by the bank of a small, clear stream that gurgled over a bed of smooth, colorful pebbles. The man was ancient, his face a roadmap of deep wrinkles, his skin the color and texture of cracked leather. His clothes were a patchwork of different materials, mended a hundred times over. He was the antithesis of the clean, pristine Elders of Lumina.
He was humming, his eyes closed in concentration. But he wasn't singing to a plant to make it grow, or to a rock to shape it. He was humming to a wounded creature. It was a Fox-Echo, its body a beautiful mix of amber and russet-colored crystal. One of its hind legs was caught fast in a naturally-formed vise of crystal, two plates of rock that had grown together over time. The fox was snarling, its crystalline fur bristling, a low, fearful growl rumbling in its chest.
Kael watched, mesmerized. The old man's resonance was unlike anything he had ever witnessed. In Lumina, shaping was an act of will, of command. A Resonator imposed their song on the world, forcing it to bend to their harmony. This was different. The old man's song was a gentle, soothing persuasion. It was a conversation. He seemed to be listening to the crystal's own faint, natural song and adding a new verse to it, a suggestion rather than a command. Under the influence of the man's gentle humming, the two plates of crystal trapping the fox's leg were not shattering or moving. They were softening, their rigid structure becoming pliable, slowly, carefully loosening their grip. It was a subtle, deeply respectful form of resonance, a partnership with the world, not a mastery of it.
"You can stop hiding now, boy."
The old man's voice was a low, gravelly rumble, and he spoke without opening his eyes or breaking the rhythm of his hum. "Your silence is louder than any footstep in this wood."
Kael froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. He had been so sure of his stealth. Slowly, reluctantly, he straightened up and stepped out from his hiding place. He kept his hand on his fang-knife, his posture defensive, ready to run.
The old man finished his song. With a final, soft chime, the crystal plates relaxed just enough for the Fox-Echo to pull its leg free. The creature, instead of bolting, shook itself and then took a few limping steps closer to the old man, nudging his hand with its nose in a clear gesture of gratitude before trotting away into the woods.
Only then did the old man open his eyes. They were a pale, watery blue, but they were sharp and missed nothing. He looked Kael up and down, his gaze lingering for a long moment on the wicked-looking Jag-Wolf fang at his belt, and then on the slight, almost unnoticeable limp in Kael's walk.
"That's a nasty weapon for one so young," the old man observed, his voice neutral. "And you carry yourself like a survivor, not a traveler. Running from something? Or to something?"
Kael didn't answer. He remained tense, wary. "Who are you?" he asked, his own voice sounding rough and unused.
The old man chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. "The name's Silas. And you are a boy a long way from home." He gestured to a spot by the fire pit near the stream. "Sit. The roots are almost roasted. You look like you could use a real meal."
A tense, wary conversation began. Silas asked no more probing questions, and Kael offered no information, simply saying he was from "a village to the west." Silas pulled several large, tuber-like crystals from the hot coals of his fire. He broke one open, revealing a soft, steaming interior, and offered it to Kael. It tasted smoky, rich, and deeply satisfying.
As they ate, Kael found his courage. "That song you sang," he began. "For the fox. I've never seen a Resonator do that before."
Silas let out a short, sharp scoff at the word. "Resonator. That's what the city folk call themselves. The ones who think the world is an instrument and they're the only ones allowed to play it." He took a bite of his root, chewing thoughtfully. "I'm no Resonator, boy. I'm a Listener. There's a difference."
He pointed a gnarled finger at the forest around them. "They shout their songs at the world, trying to force it into a single, perfect harmony. Their harmony. But they never stop to listen to the song the world is already singing." He looked Kael directly in the eye, his gaze intense. "That's how you get things like blight and screaming Echoes. The world gets tired of being shouted at. Sometimes, it screams back."
The words struck Kael with the force of a physical blow. It was a radical, dangerous idea, but it was a perfect, chilling confirmation of the scraps of truth he had uncovered in Lumina, of his own terrifying experience with the blight. The world wasn't just passively dying. It was fighting back.