The Academy didn't wake up that morning.
It hesitated.
No bells. No drills. No chatter in the halls.
Just a strange, hollow quiet — the kind that makes every door creak sound louder than it should.
Taren opened one eye, squinting at the sunlight cutting across his bed. "What time is it?"
Serin's voice came from the hallway. "Too late for breakfast."
He groaned. "Then it's already a bad day."
When he stepped outside, the air felt different.
Colder. Still.
Serin stood by the railing, hair catching the light. She wasn't smiling.
"Where is everyone?" he asked.
"Kael called a meeting. Council envoys arrived before dawn."
"Again?"
She nodded. "He didn't tell us."
Taren frowned. "He's hiding something."
"He always hides something."
"Yeah," Taren muttered, "but this time he looks like he's trying to hide us."
---
Kael's Office
The door was closed.
Inside, three Council members stood around his desk. Lys was among them, arms folded.
Kael didn't sit. He never did when cornered.
"You cut communication," Lys said evenly. "No reports, no readings, nothing for two days. Why?"
Kael met her gaze. "Because you'd use what I found before you understood it."
"You're not their guardian, Kael. You're their instructor."
He smiled without humor. "Then let me teach them. Not dissect them."
One of the other envoys stepped forward. "If your loyalty compromises procedure, we'll intervene directly."
Kael's voice hardened. "You'll try."
Lys spoke quieter. "Don't make this worse."
"It's already worse," he said, looking toward the window. "You just don't see it yet."
---
South Courtyard
Serin leaned over the railing, whispering, "They're arguing again."
Taren joined her, craning his neck. "You can hear them?"
"Wind carries sound."
"That's creepy."
"It's called listening."
He smirked. "You sure it's the wind doing that?"
Her eyes flicked sideways, serious for a heartbeat. "Maybe not."
The moment stretched—awkward and heavy with something neither wanted to name.
Then she looked away. "We should train before he finds out we didn't."
Taren grinned. "So now you want to train?"
"Better than waiting for trouble."
He shrugged. "Trouble's punctual."
They walked to the practice yard, unaware that every window above had watchers behind it.
---
Council Chamber
Lys watched them from the observation mirror.
The children looked small from here—two tiny figures in the vast stone circle.
Still laughing. Still unbroken.
She whispered, "You have no idea what you are, do you?"
The older envoy beside her answered, "They're anomalies."
"No," she said quietly. "They're balance. The question is—whose?"
---
Training Yard
Kael arrived halfway through their session.
No warning. No sound. Just appeared in the doorway, shadows folding around him.
"Stop," he said.
Taren lowered his hand, confused. "We just started."
"I said stop."
The tone froze them both. Kael's coat was half-buttoned, his expression carved from exhaustion.
Serin stepped forward carefully. "Did something happen?"
Kael didn't answer right away. His eyes went from one to the other—their faces still young, curious, too bright for what he knew.
He exhaled. "You're leaving the Academy."
---
Silence.
Serin blinked. "What?"
Taren laughed, expecting it to be a joke. "Good one."
Kael didn't laugh.
Taren's voice fell flat. "You're serious?"
"The Council voted this morning," Kael said. "They want to move you both to central facilities. I delayed it once. I can't again."
Serin's voice was small. "Are we in trouble?"
Kael crouched to meet their eyes. "No. You're in danger. There's a difference."
"From what?"
He looked away. "From everyone who doesn't understand you."
---
The Tower Balcony
Rain began to fall again—soft, slow, the kind that made every sound sharper.
Kael stood watching it hit the courtyard while the children packed.
He didn't hear Lys approach until she spoke.
"You can't keep defying orders."
"I can try."
"Kael, they'll remove you too."
"Then they'll have to find me first."
Lys sighed. "You're repeating history."
He turned to her, voice low. "History's the only teacher that tells the truth."
She shook her head. "And yet you never listen."
He smiled faintly. "Maybe it's time someone else did."
---
North Corridor
Taren dragged his satchel along the floor. "Feels weird leaving like this."
Serin nodded. "Feels wrong."
He forced a grin. "We could run."
She stopped walking. "You mean it?"
He looked at her—really looked.
"No. Not yet."
Her lips curved faintly. "Good. You'd get lost in the first hallway."
"Would not."
"You would."
They laughed again—quietly, nervously. But the sound carried through the corridor, echoing too long, too far.
---
Kael's Office — Minutes Later
Kael froze mid-motion.
The resonance sphere on his desk had begun to hum again—low, rhythmic, alive.
He whispered, "Not now…"
But it didn't stop.
It grew louder, vibrating through the floor, through the air—until even the torches flickered in perfect sync.
And in the center of the glow, a new pattern formed—no longer two separate spirals.
One.
Kael's eyes widened. "Oh no."
---
Hallway
The children stopped walking at the same time.
A low pulse rippled through the stone under their feet.
Serin's hand shot to her wrist. "It's burning again."
Taren winced, clutching his palm. "Mine too—"
The air around them shimmered once, bending light.
The walls seemed to breathe.
Serin whispered, "Taren?"
"I'm here."
The floor trembled—faint, like the academy itself had sighed.
And somewhere deep beneath them, the old sigils buried in the foundation began to glow—responding to something the world had been waiting centuries to hear.
The alarms started before anyone knew why.
Not sirens—bells.
Dozens of them, clanging out of rhythm, echoing through the academy like panic had found its voice.
Serin covered her ears. "What's happening?"
Taren looked around, eyes wide. "They're not drills. Those are—"
Before he finished, Kael burst through the corridor doors, cloak half-torn, eyes wild.
"Move. Now."
"What—"
"Don't talk. Run."
He grabbed Taren by the shoulder, pushing him forward. Serin stumbled after them, her boots splashing through puddles left by the storm outside.
Every hallway was chaos—students rushing in opposite directions, instructors shouting orders, papers flying like frightened birds.
Kael moved like he already knew every turn. "South gate's sealed. We go through the archives."
Serin shouted over the noise, "The archives? That's underground!"
"Exactly."
Taren gasped, "You're not supposed to be this calm!"
Kael barked, "I'm not calm, I'm busy!"
---
Council Wing
Lys stood before the control mirror, staring at the flickering images—sigils glowing all across the academy's foundation.
One envoy stammered, "It's spreading through the lower circuits! We can't contain it!"
Lys's voice was sharp but steady. "Then isolate the south quadrant. Cut Aether flow to the lower conduits."
"That will disable the archives!"
"Then pray no one's inside."
She turned sharply, eyes darkening. Kael, what did you do?
---
Lower Halls
The further they ran, the stranger the air felt.
Colder, heavier, vibrating faintly—like sound that had forgotten to fade.
Serin slowed, breathing hard. "Kael—what is this place?"
"Old vaults. The Academy was built on something older. Keep moving."
Taren frowned. "Older?"
Kael didn't answer.
The torchlight bent oddly on the walls—patterns moving like reflections on water.
The stone itself seemed to hum beneath their feet.
Taren whispered, "It's listening."
Kael froze mid-step. "Don't say that."
---
They reached a heavy iron door at the end of the corridor.
Kael pressed his hand against a sigil lock—it hissed, sputtered, and opened with a groan.
"Inside," he said.
The room beyond was circular, carved from black stone.
No windows, no torches—just faint glyphs glowing along the walls.
Serin's voice trembled. "This isn't a storage vault."
Kael nodded. "It's older than the Academy itself."
Taren looked around, feeling the air pulse against his skin. "It's like it's alive."
"It is," Kael said quietly. "And right now, it's reacting to you."
---
The bells above them stopped.
The silence that followed was worse.
Serin whispered, "Kael?"
He didn't move. He was staring at the glyphs, realizing something terrible.
"They've sealed the upper gates."
Taren blinked. "We're trapped?"
Kael turned to them, voice calm but eyes sharp. "Not trapped. Hidden."
"What's the difference?" Serin asked.
"Time."
Before either could reply, the walls themselves shifted—glyphs rearranging, threads of light crawling across the floor like veins of gold.
Taren stumbled back. "What's happening?"
Kael backed toward them, pulling them both close. "You need to stay still. No matter what you feel—don't fight it."
The air vibrated.
The glow beneath the floor spiraled outward, wrapping around them in circles of crimson and silver light.
Serin gasped. "Kael!"
He didn't answer. His voice was lost in the hum.
Taren reached for her hand instinctively. "Serin!"
She gripped his tight.
The light surged—then everything went silent.
---
Aboveground — Council Hall
Lys slammed her palm against the control mirror. "Where are they?"
"Archives chamber!" a technician shouted. "Aether readings are off the charts—unidentified frequency detected!"
"Evacuate everyone from the east wing!" she snapped.
"But the signatures—"
"I don't care! Move!"
The envoy nearest her whispered, "If that's what I think it is…"
Lys didn't look away from the mirror. "Then the Academy's about to remember its past."
---
Underground Chamber
Light receded slowly, folding back into the stone.
Kael blinked, disoriented. His hands trembled.
Taren and Serin were still there—unharmed, but changed somehow.
The marks on their skin now faintly glowed even when they weren't touching.
Kael whispered, "What did you do?"
Taren's voice was small. "We didn't do anything."
Serin looked up at him, frightened but steady. "It called us."
The air pulsed again—soft, rhythmic, alive.
Kael took a step back, whispering, "You're not supposed to hear it."
Taren looked at him. "But what if it's not supposed to be quiet?"
The walls trembled faintly, as if agreeing.
The hum didn't fade.
It settled—like a heartbeat under the floor.
Kael crouched, pressing his palm against the stone. "It's stabilizing," he said under his breath. "That shouldn't be possible."
Serin took a cautious step closer. "What's it saying?"
He looked up sharply. "You can hear it?"
She nodded. "Not words. More like… breath."
Taren tilted his head. "Then why's it shaking everything?"
"It's not shaking," Kael murmured. "It's remembering."
---
The glyphs along the walls shifted again, each symbol dimming in slow rhythm—light breathing in, light breathing out. Dust drifted from the ceiling in tiny golden flakes.
Serin whispered, "It's beautiful."
Kael's voice stayed low. "Don't touch anything."
Too late. Taren had already stepped forward, drawn by the faint glow of a spiral carved into the centre dais. He didn't touch it—he hovered his hand above it—and the air turned warm.
A sound rose, deep and soft: a single note.
It trembled through their bones, a tone too low to name but too real to ignore.
Serin stumbled, clutching her wrist. "It hurts—"
Kael grabbed her shoulder. "Focus on breathing."
The note grew louder, shifting pitch until the entire chamber seemed to vibrate with invisible strings. Taren gasped, eyes wide. "It's like it knows me."
Kael swore quietly. "Because it does."
---
Aboveground
Lys ran through the collapsing corridor, light from the sigils flashing against her face. A guard tried to stop her.
"Ma'am! Orders are to seal the lower vaults!"
"Then unseal them," she snapped.
"But—"
"Do it, or you'll explain to the Council why the ground is singing."
The guard hesitated, then turned to obey.
---
Underground
The hum broke suddenly into rhythm—no longer a tone but pulses, precise and timed. The glyphs aligned into a perfect circle around the three of them.
Serin's eyes glowed faintly with reflected light. "It's counting."
Taren frowned. "Counting what?"
Kael answered softly, "Heartbeats."
The final pulse hit—and everything went still.
A whisper followed, not from outside but from within the stone itself:
> "We remember fire. We remember wind."
Taren froze. "Did you—"
Serin nodded, trembling. "I heard it."
Kael's breath caught. "That's impossible."
> "Memory does not ask permission."
The voice wasn't loud. It didn't echo. It simply existed everywhere at once.
Kael's composure cracked for the first time in years. "What are you?" he asked.
The answer came as feeling rather than sound—images blooming in their minds: towers made of light, storms twisting through old skies, figures whose faces burned brighter than suns. A memory so ancient it ached.
Serin whispered, "It's showing us… itself."
Kael staggered back. "It's showing you."
---
Aboveground
Lys reached the sealed vault door. The stone radiated heat even through her gloves. "Kael!" she shouted, pounding against it.
A voice from within—his—answered faintly: "Don't open it!"
"I wasn't asking!"
She pressed her hand against the sigil plate. The wall flared blue, then red, then dissolved into light.
---
Inside the Vault
The blast of air knocked dust from the ceiling. Lys stumbled through, catching her breath.
Kael turned to face her. "You shouldn't be here."
"Neither should you," she shot back. "What did you find?"
He gestured toward the floor. "Not a relic. A memory."
She looked down, seeing the spirals still glowing beneath the children's feet, light pulsing in perfect unison with their breathing.
Serin looked up, her eyes wide but calm. "It's awake."
Lys whispered, "What is?"
Taren answered before Kael could stop him. "The world."
---
For a moment, no one spoke.
The air itself seemed to wait for their next word.
Kael swallowed hard. "We leave now. Before the Council realizes the reading's stopped."
He started toward the passage. "Lys, help me—"
> "Running changes nothing."
All four froze. The voice returned, quieter now, almost kind.
> "The echo does not chase. It calls."
The light dimmed again, fading back into the stone until only faint lines remained. The warmth vanished, replaced by a cold that bit into bone.
Kael whispered, "It's gone."
Lys shook her head. "No. It's listening."
---
They stood there—three figures and two small silhouettes framed in the dying glow—no longer certain which side of the story they were on.
Somewhere far above, the bells started again, one by one, as if the academy itself was taking another breath.
The first raindrops were waiting for them when they reached the surface.
Not heavy, not yet—just a slow drizzle that made every stone shine.
Kael pushed open the outer gate and stepped into the courtyard.
Lys followed close behind, the two children between them, small shapes in the wet light.
"Don't stop," he said. "Not until we're past the walls."
Serin looked up. "Where will we go?"
"Somewhere the Council won't think to look."
Taren muttered, "That's not an answer."
"Exactly," Kael said. "Keep moving."
---
The academy loomed behind them, its towers streaked with rain.
Every window flickered with Aether lights as containment seals locked in place.
The sound wasn't thunder anymore—it was the hum of a building closing its eyes.
Serin reached for Taren's sleeve. "It feels sad."
He blinked. "Buildings don't feel."
"Then why does it sound like it's saying goodbye?"
He didn't know how to answer that.
---
They crossed the empty training yard.
The puddles reflected the whole world upside-down—four blurred figures walking through light and water.
Kael stopped suddenly. "Wait."
He crouched, touching the ground.
The mud rippled beneath his hand.
"Still active," he murmured. "It's following us."
Lys said, "The echo?"
He nodded. "It's not finished talking."
Serin whispered, "Then maybe we should listen."
Kael looked back at her, rain tracing lines down his face.
"You think the world just woke up to tell you secrets?"
She hesitated. "Maybe it just doesn't want to be alone."
The wind shifted at that moment, swirling through the courtyard like an answer.
---
A flash split the clouds.
Lightning, but gold instead of white.
It didn't strike—it hung in the air, a single line of light trembling like a drawn breath.
Taren whispered, "Kael…?"
He didn't reply. His eyes were on the sky.
The gold thread twisted once, then widened into a spiral—bright, silent, enormous—before folding back into the storm.
The rain stopped.
For a heartbeat, everything was still.
Then the thunder came, not loud but deep—rolling across the mountains like something waking.
---
Lys grabbed Kael's arm. "We have to move."
He nodded once, snapping out of the trance.
"North path. We'll use the cliff road."
Taren frowned. "That's a dead end."
"Not tonight."
He pulled them along the stone walkway that wound around the outer wall. The path overlooked the valley; the clouds below glowed faintly, gold veins still flickering inside them.
Serin glanced back at the academy.
Through the mist, she could see the towers leaning in the rain, the lights flickering like eyes half-open.
She whispered, "It's still watching."
---
The cliff road
They ran until their legs burned.
Kael stopped only when the academy was a silhouette behind them.
He leaned against the rock face, breathing hard.
Lys said quietly, "You bought us time. Not safety."
He nodded. "Time's all we ever buy."
Serin and Taren stood a few paces away, soaked and shivering.
Taren kicked a loose stone. "So what now? We just keep running until the sky gets bored?"
Kael managed a smile. "If the sky ever gets bored, we're all in trouble."
Serin looked up, following his gaze. The storm clouds above were parting—thin streaks of light cutting through like ribbons.
She said softly, "It's listening again."
Kael frowned. "How can you tell?"
"I can feel it."
She pressed a hand to her chest. "It's like… every time we breathe, it answers."
Taren tried to laugh, but it came out shaky. "That's weird."
"Yeah," she said. "But maybe weird isn't bad."
---
The rain began again—gentler this time, almost warm.
Kael turned toward the valley, watching the golden flashes fade.
He didn't understand what they'd awakened, but he knew the world was different now.
Lys whispered, "They won't stop looking."
"I know."
"Then where?"
Kael looked at the children—mud-streaked, tired, still curious enough to stare at lightning like it was art.
"North," he said. "Beyond the peaks. There's an outpost there, built before the wars. No one remembers it exists."
Taren asked, "Do you?"
Kael smiled faintly. "I do now."
---
They started walking again, the four of them silhouettes against the fading storm.
Behind them, the academy's bells rang once more—soft, distant, and perfectly in tune with the thunder.
Serin looked back one last time.
She didn't say anything.
She didn't have to.
The wind moved around her like a whisper that only she could hear.
The mountain air was sharper than they expected—cold enough to sting but clean in a way the academy air never was.
By dawn, the storm had retreated into the valley, leaving the sky clear and pale.
Kael led them along the ridge path until the outline of a structure emerged from the mist: a squat stone building built into the cliff itself, half swallowed by time. Its door hung crooked on old iron hinges.
He touched the lock, muttered something under his breath, and the mechanism clicked open.
Inside smelled of dust and cedar. Shelves lined the walls, filled with glass vials and rusted instruments. A single window let in a narrow blade of light.
"This is it?" Taren asked. "Doesn't look like a secret base."
"It's not meant to," Kael said. "It's meant to be forgotten."
Serin wandered toward a table littered with half-faded maps. "What is this place?"
"An observation post," Kael said. "Older than the Academy. When the first Aether rifts were discovered, they built these to study them."
Taren frowned. "You mean… people used to hear the echo?"
Kael hesitated. "They used to try to."
---
They unpacked what little they carried. Lys found an old lantern that still worked and lit it, filling the room with warm orange light. The children sat near the wall, whispering about the strange sigils carved into the stones.
Serin traced one with her finger. "It's humming."
Taren leaned closer. "That's your imagination."
"No," she said. "It's faint—like when you press your ear to a shell."
He pressed his own ear to the wall. A moment later he pulled back, eyes wide. "Okay, it's humming."
Kael looked up from the maps. "The walls store old readings. Don't touch them."
"Too late," Taren said.
The hum grew louder.
---
Kael crossed the room quickly, placing his hand over the sigil. The vibration slowed, but it didn't stop.
He whispered, "You're not supposed to respond."
Lys said quietly, "Kael… maybe it's not responding to you."
They all looked at the children. The air between them shimmered faintly, dust motes caught in invisible currents.
Serin whispered, "It knows we're here."
Kael's jaw tightened. "So does the Council, by now."
He turned to Lys. "Seal the path behind us. If they find this place, I need time."
She nodded and stepped outside, drawing a pattern across the doorframe. A low thrum answered—the lock of old magic taking hold.
---
Inside, Kael crouched beside the two children.
"I need you both to listen carefully," he said. "The echo is not a person. It doesn't want or think like we do. It remembers—everything. If you let it inside your thoughts, it will show you things you can't unsee."
Taren asked quietly, "Then why does it sound kind?"
Kael hesitated. "Because memory doesn't know it's dangerous."
Serin said, "We didn't ask for it to follow us."
"I know," Kael said. "But it has. And until I understand why, you'll stay here. No training, no resonance. Just rest."
He rose and walked away before they could argue.
---
Later — Twilight
The outpost had gone quiet.
Kael sat outside, watching the last edge of sunlight bleed into the horizon. Lys joined him, leaning against the doorway.
"They're asleep," she said.
He nodded. "Good."
"You don't really believe we can hide forever, do you?"
"No," he said. "But we can hide long enough to understand what we're running from."
Lys looked toward the clouds below. "It wasn't just resonance, was it?"
Kael shook his head. "It's older. Something the world buried when it was young."
"And now two children have dug it up."
He smiled faintly. "Children have a talent for that."
---
Inside — Midnight
Taren woke first. The air felt heavy, but not dangerous—more like someone whispering in another room.
He looked around; Serin was still asleep, her wrist faintly glowing through the bandage.
He sat up. "I can hear you," he whispered to the dark.
The hum answered.
It wasn't sound—more like warmth gathering behind his ribs.
He stood, walked to the door, and opened it a crack. Cold wind swept through.
> "Fire and wind remember each other," the whisper said, soft and clear.
He froze. "Who are you?"
> "Memory."
The voice faded into the wind, and for a moment he thought he'd dreamed it.
Then Serin stirred in her sleep, murmuring his name.
---
Kael entered quietly, sensing the shift in the air.
He saw the open door, the faint shimmer of light around the two sleeping figures, and the way the sigils on the wall had begun to glow again.
He whispered to himself, "The world's not done speaking."
He closed the door gently, sealing the wind outside.
Dawn crept in without birdsong.
The valley below was drowned in mist, and the world looked like it was holding its breath.
Kael stood outside the outpost, cloak drawn tight against the cold. The air felt wrong—too still, too aware. Every sound came back as an echo that didn't quite match the original.
Behind him, the door opened softly.
Serin stepped out, blanket around her shoulders, hair tangled by sleep.
"You should rest," Kael said.
"I tried."
"Bad dreams?"
She shook her head. "No dreams. Just… noise."
"What kind of noise?"
"Like a voice, but not words. It was trying to remember something, and it couldn't."
Kael's eyes darkened. "Then it's getting stronger."
---
Inside
Taren sat cross-legged near the old maps, tracing lines that didn't exist.
The marks on his palm glowed faintly every time he breathed.
When Serin re-entered, he looked up. "Did you hear it too?"
"Yeah."
"What did it say?"
She hesitated. "It didn't say. It asked."
"What?"
"'Are you ready to listen?'"
He swallowed. "And you answered?"
She nodded slowly. "I think we already did."
---
Outside
Lys tightened the saddle straps on one of the pack horses. "We should move before they track us. The Council will sweep the range by noon."
Kael didn't answer immediately. His gaze was fixed on the horizon where the clouds were beginning to turn gold.
"They'll find us no matter where we go," he said. "And if we run now, we'll never know what follows us."
"Then you're staying?"
He nodded. "Until I hear it myself."
Lys cursed under her breath. "You always did have a death wish."
"Not death," he said softly. "Clarity."
---
Moments later
The mountain shuddered—just once, a low rumble like distant thunder.
Dust fell from the rafters. The sigils carved into the wall of the outpost flared to life again.
Serin gasped. "It's back."
Kael stepped inside. "Stay calm."
Taren stood, eyes wide. "It's everywhere."
The light climbed the walls, following invisible lines until it reached the ceiling. Then the air itself began to vibrate.
> "Fire and wind remember."
The words came from nowhere and everywhere—so gentle they barely disturbed the dust.
Serin whispered, "It's the same voice."
Kael's heart pounded. "Listen carefully. Don't answer it."
But the light pulsed again, and the air grew warm.
> "You called. We heard."
Serin staggered. "It's—inside my head."
Taren caught her before she fell. "Stop talking to it!"
"I'm not!"
> "Memory speaks when silence forgets."
The glow on their skin brightened until it matched the color of the glyphs.
Kael shouted, "Enough!" and struck his staff against the floor.
The chamber went dark. Silence slammed back like a wave.
---
They stood there shaking, breaths ragged.
Then, faint and unexpected, came a softer echo—this time from outside.
A horn.
Not ancient. Real.
Lys ran in. "Council scouts! Two ships on the ridge road!"
Kael moved instantly. "Get them to the horses."
"What about the echo?" Lys asked.
"It's already coming with us," he said grimly.
---
The Escape
They burst from the outpost into the morning glare.
Wind whipped at their cloaks as they mounted up. Below, along the lower path, silver banners flashed in the light.
Serin looked back once. "Kael—"
"I see them. Hold on."
The horses lunged forward, hooves striking sparks from the rock. The sky above them glowed faintly gold, and with every stride the rhythm of their gallop matched the pulse in the air.
> "Fire and wind move as one."
Kael muttered, "Not now…"
> "Now."
Lightning cracked across the ridge—straight ahead—and split a boulder in their path. Stone shards rained down; the horses reared. For an instant, everything froze.
Taren threw his arm around Serin, shielding her from the debris.
The lightning vanished as suddenly as it appeared.
When the dust cleared, the Council scouts had halted below, staring upward in disbelief. The mountain itself had sealed the pass behind them.
Kael whispered, "The echo protected us."
Lys said, "Or claimed us."
He didn't argue.
---
They rode until the valley widened and the air thinned into silence.
The children leaned against each other, half-asleep, marks still glowing faintly.
Kael reined in his horse, looking back at the fading trail.
Far behind, the clouds over the academy had begun to twist again—gold and silver spirals stretching toward the sun.
He whispered, "So this is what you wanted us to hear."
The wind answered with a single word that wasn't a sound at all:
> "Begin."
---