Elderon slept in Lysa's arms before dawn touched the horizon.
Not peacefully — his breaths caught in uneven rhythms, his body trembling with the weight of something too vast for his small frame — but he slept. And Lysa stayed awake long after his glow dimmed to a faint ember.
Keir watched her as the sky shifted from deep blue to pale gold.
"You're not going to put him down, are you?" he asked softly.
Lysa shook her head.
"He's been alone too long."
Keir leaned against the doorway, arms crossed.
"He's… carrying more than any child should."
"Yes."
"And more than any child can."
Lysa's jaw tightened.
"That's why we're here."
Keir nodded, though his eyes remained clouded. "Taren's echo… inside a child? It doesn't feel right."
"It isn't right," Lysa murmured. "But that doesn't mean Elderon did anything wrong."
"You're sure it's an echo?" he asked.
She lowered her voice. "I felt it."
Keir exhaled. "Then we need to act carefully. The wrong move could—"
"I know," Lysa whispered."I know."
The earth felt different beneath her feet — heavier, as if bracing for something. The Pattern was listening, but it wasn't calm; it was… alert.
Rida and Toma arrived soon after sunrise. Both looked like they hadn't slept.
Rida spoke first.
"The ground is humming."
"Too strongly," Toma added. "Too widely. It's not localized around Elderon anymore."
Lysa frowned.
"How far?"
Toma closed his eyes, dipped his fingers into the dirt, and inhaled.
A moment later, his eyes snapped open.
"Half the village."
Lysa's heart lurched."Half—?"
"It's spreading through any surface he touched," Rida said, kneeling to feel the floor."Through memories."
Lysa looked down at the sleeping boy in her arms.
"Is it… dangerous?"
Rida hesitated.
Toma answered for her.
"Not yet. But if he wakes wrong—"
Lysa tightened her hold protectively.
"He won't."
"Lysa," Toma said gently, "we have to prepare for the possibility that he wakes with Taren's echo at the front."
Lysa shook her head."No. Elderon comes first."
"You didn't see what I saw in the ground," Toma whispered. "The resonance is not just memory."
Rida added, voice shaking:
"It's… intent."
Lysa felt the floor shift lightly beneath her.
Keir stepped closer. "So what do we do?"
Lysa rose slowly, still cradling Elderon.
"We call the others."
The Seven gathered in the common house — a broad room normally used for village meetings, now brimming with quiet panic and too many possible futures.
Elderon lay on a pallet of blankets in the center, Sol floating by his side.
Rian sat close, holding Ema's hand.
Villagers watched from the walls — fearful but unwilling to look away.
Mina knelt beside Elderon, listening to his breath.
"It's too shallow," she murmured. "He's fighting something."
"Not something," Sal corrected."Someone."
Lysa tensed.
Anon crouched on the opposite side of the pallet, his eyes reflecting faint ripples in the air.
"The echo is active."
"Can you see it?" Rida asked.
"Yes," Anon said softly. "But not clearly. It's… distorted. Like looking through cracked glass."
Yun touched Elderon's forehead."He's burning again."
Lysa reached for his hand."Elderon—?"
The boy's fingers twitched… then clasped hers.
Hard.
Too hard.
Lysa winced but didn't pull away.
His voice came in a hoarse whisper:
"Don't… let him… take me."
Lysa leaned closer."Who?"
Elderon cried out, back arching.
Sol flared brightly.
And the room changed.
Every villager gasped.Rida staggered.Sal dropped to one knee.Mina clutched her chest.
Even Toma swore under his breath.
Because the room was suddenly filled with…
voices.
Overlapping.Layered.Ancient.
Not the voices of people.Not villagers.Not echoes of the chamber.
These were deeper.
Older.
Familiar.
Whispers of wind and soil.Whispers of light and breath.Whispers of memory.
The Pattern.
Yun pressed her hands to her ears."Why is it so loud?"
"It's not loud," Sal murmured through clenched teeth. "It's close."
Elderon screamed.
A sharp, piercing note that split the air — vibrating every surface in the room.
Sol darted upward in panic.
Rian sobbed.
Villagers backed against the walls.
Lysa held Elderon tightly.
"Look at me," she whispered, voice steady despite the chaos.
He did.
And for a moment—his eyes carried an impossible, older depth.
Not a child's fear.
A man's grief.
A man's burden.
A man who died teaching the world to forget him.
Lysa whispered:
"Taren?"
Elderon's mouth opened—
—but the voice that emerged was not a child's.
It was layered.Faint.Broken.
And unmistakable.
"Not… him."
The room fell deathly still.
The echo spoke again, through Elderon's trembling body:
"Just… what remains."
Lysa's breath hitched.The others froze.
Keir whispered, pale:
"Taren's echo… is conscious."
The voice — faint and distant, as if underwater — continued:
"Protect… him."
Lysa leaned closer.
"Elderon?"
The echo flickered.
"Both… of us."
Rida clutched her chest.
"The echo is trying to protect the child?"
"Yes," Anon whispered, shocked."It's not trying to control him. It's trying to shield him."
Lysa felt tears sting her eyes.
"Elderon," she whispered to the echo, "why him?"
The echo crackled.
"He… found me."
"How?"
"Lost… in the Pattern."
Lysa's pulse thudded painfully.
"Are you here to warn us?"
The echo hesitated.
Then:
"Yes."
Sal inhaled sharply.
"Warn us about what?"
And the echo answered.
"Something… coming."
Lysa felt the room constrict.
"What?"
But Elderon convulsed—hard —and the echo faltered.
"Too… heavy…"
Mina pressed down gently on his shoulders."We need to stabilize him."
Toma steadied the floor beneath him."Lysa, you need to anchor him!"
Lysa grasped Elderon's hand tightly.
"Elderon — stay with me. I'm here."
The echo flickered in his eyes.
"Please… don't let them… take him."
"Who?" Lysa cried.
But Elderon's body arched painfully.
And a burst of resonance ripped outward — so strong it knocked half the villagers to the floor and extinguished every lamp in the house.
Only Sol remained glowing.
Barely.
The echo spoke one last time through the child's shaking lips:
"They are already walking."
Lysa stiffened.
"Who?"
"Those… who hear… nothing."
The room fell silent.
No one breathed.
No one moved.
And then—
Elderon collapsed.
The echo went dark.
And Lysa screamed his name.
It took long moments — agonizing ones — before anyone spoke.
Finally, Rida whispered, voice shaking:
"The Quiet Makers…"
"They don't hear resonance," Yun murmured.
"They don't hear anything," Anon said softly. "Not the Pattern. Not the echoes. Not the world."
"Then who else?" Toma whispered.
Lysa held Elderon against her chest, tears streaking down her face.
Her voice cracked.
"It wasn't the Quiet Makers."
The others stared at her.
Keir whispered:
"Then who?"
Lysa pressed her forehead to Elderon's.
"Those who hear nothing."
She inhaled.
"The Silenced Ones."
The room shuddered with understanding.
Ancient stories.Old nightmares.The first victims of the Resonance War — those whose resonance had been forcibly stripped.
Wanderers.Broken.Empty.Alive, but without the world.
"Impossible," Mina whispered. "They disappeared generations ago."
"No," Anon said quietly."They survived."
"And now they're coming back," Sal whispered.
"For the child who carries an echo," Rida added.
"And for anyone awakening," Toma said softly.
Lysa tightened her arms around Elderon.
Her throat tightened around the truth she could no longer deny.
"This isn't a village crisis anymore."
Keir placed his hand over hers.
"This is the beginning of something much bigger."
The Pattern hummed faintly through the walls.
As if confirming his words.
Lysa wiped her tears.
"We leave at dawn."
Mina asked, "Where?"
Lysa looked down at the child in her arms — the boy who carried an echo of a legend and a warning from a forgotten people.
"East," she whispered.
"Toward the place the Silenced Ones are rising."
She stood.
"And toward whoever they're hunting."
The earth hummed beneath her.
The Pattern breathed.
And the night closed in.