The mind of the child, Harmony, was a universe in itself. When Kael and Lyra entered, they were not explorers in a psychic landscape; they were sailors on a sea of pure, untamed music. Great, continent-sized chords of joy drifted past them, while deep, silent canyons of sorrow carved through the terrain. The sky was a swirling symphony of color and sound.
And it was a battlefield.
From one horizon, the orderly, perfect, and harmonically complex waves of the Chorus's logic advanced. It was a beautiful, intricate pattern, a lattice of crystalline sound that sought to bring structure to the chaos. From the other horizon, the Mad Author's influence was a screaming, distorted tide of pure noise. It was a cacophony of a million rock concerts played at once, a story with no rhythm, no melody, and no key.
And Harmony, the small, terrified child at the center of it all, was being torn apart.
