Ema did not sleep.
While the pilgrims rested and the Seven kept silent watch in small shifts, she sat by the riverbank with her knees pulled to her chest, staring east—toward the place she insisted her brother had gone.
Her face in the firelight looked older than her years. Fear had carved lines where childhood should've lived.
Lysa approached quietly, letting the grass announce her steps.Ema didn't turn.
"He's close," she whispered.
Lysa sat beside her. "How do you know?"
Ema pressed her palm against the center of her ribs.
"Feels like… a thread. Pulling."
Lysa nodded. She had felt threads before—gentle ones, tugging her toward places the Pattern wanted her to see. But Ema's thread wasn't gentle. It looked like it hurt.
"Tell me about him," Lysa said softly.
Ema closed her eyes.
"His name is Rian. He's nine. He hums constantly—has since he was three. Most people thought it was just a habit. But when the sky spiraled last week… his humming changed."
"How?"
"It wasn't random anymore. It… matched things. The wind. The water. Birds. Even footsteps."
Her voice trembled.
"And then two mornings ago, he woke before dawn, looked at me, and said one word."
"What word?"
Ema's voice cracked.
"East."
Then she finally looked at Lysa—eyes shimmering with anger, grief, and confusion tangled into one unbearable knot.
"He didn't say goodbye. He just… walked. Like something bigger than him had picked up his feet."
Lysa's throat tightened.Children awakening alone—untaught, unprotected—could easily lose themselves. The Pattern wasn't cruel, but awakening without guidance was like stepping into sunlight after years underground.
Blinding. Overwhelming.
Dangerous.
"We'll find him," Lysa said quietly.
Ema's jaw set.
"You promised."
"Yes."
"And if he's not himself?"
Lysa hesitated.
Then answered with the only truth that mattered:
"Then we'll help bring him back."
Ema's breath shuddered.Behind them, the river hummed faintly in sympathy.
The caravan broke camp at dawn.
A quiet tension accompanied their steps—awareness that they were now searching not only for their destination but for a missing child who might already be more resonance than boy.
Rida walked near the front, listening to the ground.
"His footprints are here," she murmured, kneeling to trace faint indents. "Light steps. Barefoot. He's small, but… he moves fast."
"Is he alone?" Toma asked.
Rida frowned. "No."
"No?" Mina echoed anxiously.
Rida placed her ear closer to the soil.
"There's another rhythm near his—something like a second walker. But lighter. Not human."
"Animal?" Yun guessed.
Rida hesitated.
"No. Not quite."
Anon narrowed his eyes.
"An echo?" he whispered.
The air shimmered faintly—just for a moment.
Sal stiffened. "Something's following him."
"Or guiding him," Lysa murmured.
Ema's voice was sharp as broken pottery.
"Then we move faster."
She pushed ahead, walking until her ankles splashed through the shallows at the river's edge.
Lysa followed.
Then everyone else.
By midday, the valley narrowed into a winding gorge.Steep stone walls rose on either side, their surfaces glowing faintly under threads of sunlight that broke through cracks overhead.
Birds circled above, their calls strange—almost resonant.
The gorge felt ancient.Heavy with memories.Awake.
Sal shivered. "Do you hear that?"
Mina nodded. "Voices."
"They're not voices," Anon murmured."Reflections. Echoes of the gorge itself."
Then Toma halted.
"What is it?" Lysa asked.
Toma pointed at the rock wall.
A name glowed faintly—written in a child's handwriting, shimmering like river-light.
RIAN
Ema's breath broke.
"He was here. He was right here."
Then she reached toward the name—and the stone pulsed, shifting underneath her touch.
The entire gorge responded.
Not violently.
Curiously.
Rida stepped back. "It's listening."
Sal whispered, "To what?"
Mina frowned. "To us."
Lysa raised her hand slowly, letting the resonance in her pulse steady the air around them.
"We're looking for Rian," she said aloud, as if speaking to the stone."He's a child. He walked alone. Can you show us where he went?"
The gorge did not speak.
It shifted.
Stone patterns along the walls rippled like water disturbed by a pebble.
Then—
A direction.
A spiral forming.Slow.Deliberate.Pointing deeper into the gorge.
The Seven exchanged glances.
"East still," Yun murmured.
But the spiral held a second shape beneath it.A warning.
Rida's expression tightened.
"It wants us to know something else…"
"What?" Ema asked sharply.
Rida swallowed.
"He's not alone."
They moved faster now—pilgrims struggling to keep up, but refusing to be left behind.
The gorge narrowed further.The air grew still and strange.A faint humming filled the space—soft, steady, woven into the stone itself.
Then they found the second name.
High on a rock shelf, almost at child height—
EMA
Ema stared at it, stunned.
"He wrote my name," she whispered.
"How did he climb that high?" Mina asked.
"He didn't," Anon said. "The resonance did."
The stone shimmered faintly under sunlight.
Ema ran her fingers over her name.It vibrated softly.
"He's calling for me," she whispered.
"Or calling to warn you," Sal said quietly.
Toma's voice tightened. "We need to keep moving."
The gorge deepened into a bowl-shaped clearing carved by centuries of water and wind.The river cut straight through the middle, slow and glassy here—reflecting the sky like a second world.
And on the far bank—
A child stood.
Barefoot.Clothes muddied.Eyes glowing faint gold.Humming softly into the air around him.
Ema froze.
"Rian…"
The humming shifted, becoming words without language.
Lysa inhaled sharply.
It wasn't random.
It was resonance.
Old resonance.
Learned resonance.
Rida put a hand over her heart."It's the Pattern speaking through him."
"No," Toma whispered. "It's speaking with him."
Ema stepped toward the river.
"Rian!"
Her voice broke on the rocks.
The humming faltered.
Rian turned.
His face lit up with recognition.
But then a shadow moved beside him.
Not a human.Not an animal.Not an echo.
Something between all three.
It shimmered faintly—like woven light trying to remember a shape.
Mina gasped. "Is that—"
"An echo form," Anon finished."A being made of resonance that never became human or Pattern."
Sal whispered, "A Remnant."
Rida nodded slowly.
"One of the ones that never found a body."
Lysa's breath caught.
The Remnant hovered protectively beside Rian, humming in harmony with him.Not threatening.Not violent.
Guiding.
Cradling.
Almost… loving.
Ema stepped again toward the water.
"Rian, come here. Please."
Rian hesitated.The hum inside him softened.
The Remnant shifted.
Its outline flickered, brightening as though preparing to speak.
And then—
It sang.
Not a melody.Not human.
A sound like shimmering stone.Like a memory of light trying to become breath.
Toma covered his ears.Rida staggered.Mina scrunched her eyes shut.Yun winced.
Sal fell to his knees.
Anon gasped, looking stunned.
Lysa stood firm—barely.
The song ended as abruptly as it began.
The Remnant's glow steadied.
Rian blinked at Ema.
"Sis?"
She sobbed."Rian!"
She dove into the river.
"Ema, wait—!" Lysa shouted.
The water surged.
Not violently.
In response.
Protecting her.Carrying her forward.Lifting her toward Rian's bank.
She reached her brother.
Pulled him into her arms.
He clung to her with small, shaking hands.
"I didn't mean to leave," he whispered against her shoulder.
She held him tighter."I know. I know. You're safe."
The Remnant hovered inches away—watching.Waiting.Humming softly.
Lysa stepped onto the riverbank beside them.
The Remnant's glow flickered.
"Are you protecting him?" she asked softly.
The Remnant pulsed.
A yes without words.
"Why?" Yun asked gently.
The Remnant sang one note.
One soft, trembling note.
Sal closed his eyes, translating the resonance quietly.
"He was lonely."
Ema inhaled sharply.
"The Pattern called him," Lysa said softly. "But this… this being answered the call too."
The Remnant hummed again—this time low, melancholy.
Mina whispered:
"It's not dangerous."
"No," Rida said. "It's wounded."
Anon nodded.
"And it chose Rian to anchor itself."
Rian looked up at Lysa.
"It kept me warm," he whispered. "When it got dark. And it held my hand when the rocks hummed too loud."
Ema's tears spilled freely.
Lysa knelt.
"Does it want to hurt anyone?"
Rian shook his head."It just… wants a name."
The Remnant pulsed again.
A small, trembling glow.
Mina's hand flew to her mouth. "It's lonely."
"Alone since the Resonance War," Toma murmured.
Anon stepped closer.
"Then give it one," he said.
Lysa turned to Rian.
"What name do you want to give it?"
Rian hesitated.
Then whispered:
"Sol."
The Remnant flared—bright, warm, gentle.
A resonance name.A beginning.
Lysa felt the Pattern stir, pleased.
"Sol," she whispered."A friend. A guardian."
The Remnant drifted closer, humming softly—accepting the name.
Ema held Rian tightly, relief shaking through her.
Her voice was soft but sure:
"I won't lose you again."
Rian whispered back:
"I wasn't lost. I was… found."
Lysa felt the truth of that settle deep in her bones.
They weren't just gathering children.
They were gathering stories.
Fragments.Remnants.Lonely lights.
The world wasn't waking into chaos.
It was waking into memory.
And memory wanted to belong.
She rose, looking east.
There would be more children.More names.More beings like Sol.More dangers.More choices.
The caravan approached cautiously behind them.
And the Remnant—Sol—hovered beside Rian like a small comet that had finally found orbit.
Mina broke the silence:
"Are we… taking him with us?"
Rian hugged Sol tighter.
"If we're walking east," he said softly, "then so is he."
Lysa nodded.
Her voice was strong, steady, certain:
"Then let's go together."
She turned toward the horizon.
And the wind, warm and rising, whispered a single word:
More.