The inkwells of the Order of the Inkbound[1] did not spill by accident.
Far below the surface sanctums, a stream of glyph-light flickered to life across a long, smooth stone. The warded script twisted and unfolded itself in deliberate patterns—signaling not a call for aid, but a submission of knowledge.
Three Councilors gathered around the transmission glyph, their hands clasped and voices silent. The Order did not speak unless truth demanded it.
The glyph's pattern glowed again. This time, it formed a circle, then split it with a single thread of inklight. A mark of division. It bore Senvira's signature.
"Senvira of Voice and Veil," said the first Councilor. "The prodigal tongue returns."
"She sends information, not apology," murmured the second.
"Let us see if either has weight," replied the third.
The message unfolded in layers. Not just sound, but Resona. A discipline rarely tolerated in the halls of the Order of the Inkbound, where only Sygros glyphwork was sanctioned for archival use.
Senvira's voice echoed across the room, carefully shaped:
"To the Council—I speak as witness. The exile Suhra lives. She shelters a child named Ashai. He is not her blood. He is young, but he listens. When I spoke to him through Myhn—Resona, Luthien—he recognized the strand immediately. And not in the way children repeat words. He knew what it was. His expression, his phrasing... it was too natural. Too early."
A pause. Not in speech, but in feeling. Her voice carried a ripple of quiet unease.
"He was five. Children don't react like that. They mimic, yes. But he responded like the Myhn was part of his breath. Not an influence. A sense. I did not witness his attunement. I left before Suhra could begin the test. But I am certain—this child is not ordinary."
The glyph closed, folding neatly into itself. A long silence followed.
The second Councilor finally broke it. "Resona messaging. Intent-layered. That alone is a transgression."
"But the claim…" the first said, turning to the others. "A child who identifies Luthien voicecraft by instinct? At five?"
"Impossible," said the third, though it sounded more like a hope than a denial.
"It was Suhra who passed beyond the inkbound," murmured the second. "Now we find this?"
The first raised a hand.
"Summon her. Let her speak the rest in person. If this is real, she will show us more."
The third Councilor began drawing the summoning glyph—measured, precise, formal. No deviation. No echo.
They would not rely on Senvira's words alone.
The days passed. The sky over the Shadewrought dimmed as word was sent, and then received.
Senvira stood once again within its inked walls. Older now. Her dark robes bore traces of travel, and the faint shimmer of concealed Myhn along her cuffs. Her presence had always made some uneasy.
Because she was not shaped in glyphs, but in Resona—a discipline viewed as unstable, personal, and prone to failure.
Still, the Council had summoned her.
She bowed with practiced precision. The three Councilors—Valen, the first; Rhaziel, the second; and Maerin, the third—stood in their accustomed places, flanked by lesser scribes who observed but would not speak.
"You return of your own will," said the first Councilor.
"I return with clarity," Senvira replied. "The moment I spoke to him, I felt something wrong. Not broken. Just... out of place. As though he were tuned to something deeper than thread."
Rhaziel, the second Councilor, raised a brow. His expression was always edged with suspicion when it came to her, as if her presence alone threatened the very ink beneath their feet. "And yet you chose voice over form to report it."
"My discipline speaks best in moments that ink cannot hold."
A quiet hum passed through the chamber. Not disagreement, but tension. Resona forms carried emotional intent, and that was always uncomfortable here.
"Explain what you experienced," the third Councilor said.
Senvira stepped forward.
"I introduced myself using Luthien. My voice was layered with it—calibrated to resonate gently, to see if the child could sense it. He didn't just hear it. He named it. Myhn. Voice."
"You're certain?"
"I am."
Rhaziel narrowed his eyes. "Could he have been coached?" His tone held the familiar bite of accusation—not inquiry.
"He had no training. Suhra was careful. She wouldn't have primed him. And I saw the look in her eyes when he spoke—she was surprised too."
There was a pause.
"Continue," said the first.
Senvira nodded. "There was more than just the voicecraft. We moved into the memory echo portion of the aptitude test. I used Remnara to share a soft recollection—only a simple one, meant to be passive. A childhood memory of when I was thirteen, standing in the center of the village square, receiving my first mark. It was a swirl etched just near my wrist, barely glowing, and I remembered smiling as I looked at it. The day was warm, the air calm. Just sound, color, and pride.
She hesitated. "But Ashai didn't just observe it. He stepped into it. Like he walked into the moment beside me. He watched the girl—me—and as I smiled at the mark, he changed something. The younger version of me blinked... and my smile faded. Not fully, just slightly—like she had noticed something unexpected. It was subtle but unmistakable. That's when I broke the echo." I felt his presence inside the thread. Like a second weaver sitting behind my voice."
Maerin tilted his head slightly. "Remnara interference from the subject?"
"Yes," she said, voice quiet. "Without training. Without knowing it was even a memory. He just... responded to it like it was real. And when it ended, he looked at me and said, 'The girl changed. Her smile was different at the end.' He noticed the shift—something I didn't even expect him to see, let alone influence."
There was a pause. The scribes exchanged a glance.
"He reacted as though the strand lived in him. He followed my tone, not as mimicry, but as recognition. Children don't usually sense tone that deeply. Especially not with Luthien."
The Councilors exchanged quiet glances.
"No glyphs? No markings?"
"I didn't get the chance to look," Senvira admitted. "We weren't expecting a reaction strong enough to investigate that far. Suhra had planned to test his attunement after I left. But now, thinking back... there was a moment I missed. When he turned, just briefly, I thought I saw something near his shoulder. A mark—but it was faint, and I didn't press. I thought it might've been dirt or shadow. Now I'm not so sure."
The third Councilor looked toward a scribe. "Record the child as a subject of interest. Possible early Resona affinity. Pre-attunement anomaly."
The scribe nodded and began to write.
Rhaziel stepped closer, his gaze sharp, not out of curiosity but judgment barely veiled.
"You chose to return. Why?"
Senvira didn't blink. "Because I've never heard Myhn answer a child like that."
She held her posture, but the thought burned just beneath. Rhaziel always looked at me like I didn't belong. Like I should apologize for using Resona at all. The whole Order… they treat anything that's not Sygros like a mistake. Resona's not broken—just different. But to them, different means dangerous.
A beat of silence.
The third Councilor nodded slowly. "Then we prepare."
From the shadows, a fourth figure stepped forward—tall, veiled, inked in spirals. Arkan.
The first Councilor gestured to him.
"He has already left. The glyph you left—Luthien or not—has residual structure. Arkan will follow its geometric echoes using Sygros methods. If they've moved, the trail will still anchor to the earth."
Senvira's voice dropped. "He won't hurt them, will he?"
"He will not act. He will record."
But Senvira saw the way Arkan moved—like a blade inside silence.
She said nothing more.
And in the cold chamber of the Order of the Inkbound, the light pulsed once and dimmed.
Far beyond the mountains, a geometric trace flickered faintly on a stone root path. Lines once drawn to resonate had faded—but the shape still lingered.
And someone was following it
[1] Orders are factions that have solidified themselves within the continent, either through raw power or extensive history. The Inkbound are a sygros based faction that have been around for over 500 years.