Opening Verse
"Where steel was folded in rhythm and smoke,
Now silence spills across the yoke.
The world once kind, now cruel and grand—
Still sings of home, still whispers land."
I. Ashes and Echoes
Three moons had slipped by since Rin and Kael tumbled out of the Drift—time measured in absence, not days. Now, with Velza leaning on his shoulder and Kael at his flank, they pressed through the skeletal forest at Syr'khan's northern edge. The air crackled with remnants of war: scorched pines, shards of banners, and embers of shattered drums.
Velza's left arm, bound in strips torn from Kael's surcoat, throbbed with every step. She recounted their losses in clipped breaths:
"The North Barracks fell to the Crown's fury. Those of us deemed 'off-key' were marched into the frontline. Sera and Brann gathered the few who remained. The rest are ghosts in the ash."
Kael's jaw hardened. He once joked that the world moved to rhythm; now he only felt its jagged stops. He gripped his sword hilt. "Then we follow them. No more drifting."
Rin, silent beside them, let their resolve settle in his bones. He still felt the Drift's echo—a song of void and possibility—but it no longer guided him alone. Today, it brought him back to the living.
II. Ashes of the Quiet Flame
The path fell silent as Rin slowed. A memory rose unbidden, warm as embers in the cold:
Old Man Dario's forge, where hammer met steel in a private symphony of sparks.
"You don't rush fire," Dario's gravel voice had taught him.
"You listen. It speaks first—then you move."
The village beyond the forge's heat was small, but its every stone hummed with life. Rin shut his eyes, tasting smoke and summer. Now, those stones lay buried beneath siege. The forge was surely cold. Dario's anvil silent.
A wind stirred dust at Rin's feet—an invitation. He straightened, exhaling. Beside him, Kael waved, impatient but relieved. Velza lifted her head, eyes bright.
The ember of that memory flared inside him. Not enough to solo a march, but enough to be a spark.
Rin stepped forward. Together they continued.
III. The Reunion Beneath Flames
At dusk, they crested a ridge. Below, a hidden camp stirred with cautious hope: five fires, a half-dozen figures moving among cover.
Sera emerged first, gaunt and armed with fierce eyes. Brann followed, shield strapped to his arm, every line of his stance a testament to survival.
They halted. For a moment, no one breathed.
"Sera," Rin called softly.
Her gaze flicked to Kael, then to Velza, and finally to him. "Three moons… you were gone three moons."
Rin moved down to them. "We—drifted." He paused, voice catching. "I'm sorry."
Brann's hand hovered by his sword but did not draw. "We thought you were dead."
"We all survived what we could," Sera said. Her tone was neither welcome nor cold. It was real. "We have little time. A Crown Champion hunts us. We move at first light."
Velza sank to a stump, muscles trembling. "And we need more than hope. We need each other."
Kael knelt and offered water to a trembling remnant. "We have you. And each other. That's enough to fight."
Rin sheathed his hesitation. "Then let's stand together. No myths—just us."
They gathered close, a circle of wounded, weathered souls ready to reclaim their rhythm.
Closing Verse
"The blade forgets its fire until the hand remembers.
The rhythm breaks—but somewhere, the silence hums again."