The crystalline tendril retracted slightly, its chime-like voice echoing in the expanded Crucible, now a cavernous blend of slum grit and Depths' luminescence. Crystals jutted from the walls like improvised strings, vein-coils pulsing with a soft, otherworldly glow that cast elongated shadows across the looms and instrument scraps. The air hummed with latent power, scented by rust, dye, and a faint, mineral tang rising from below—like the breath of Veridia's hidden lungs. The Collective froze in their tasks: Mira pausing mid-weave on a banner depicting the monolith, Seraphine halting her chalk mid-scrawl on a propaganda slate, Elara clutching her drum as if it were a shield. Jax leaned on his rod, eyes narrow, while Remy fiddled with a crystal shard, file poised like a conductor's baton.
Lysander's hand instinctively went to his mallet, the brass warm from recent composition, his bloodied palm leaving a smear that glowed faintly on contact. The whispers that had plagued his dreams now stood manifest, a holographic envoy from the Depths—a figure of swirling light and sound, humanoid yet fluid, its form shifting like notes in a improvisational jazz. Brynn stood beside him, pipes raised halfway, her fiery gaze locked on the apparition. "Exchange? We've given blood, sweat, our very scars. What more do you want?"
The envoy's voice resonated, a multilayered harmony that vibrated the Bone's frame in sympathy. "Surface dwellers grasp at echoes. The True Score lies deeper—compositions that bend reality, summon elements, heal or raze with a single chord. But power flows bidirectional. We require a spark: the unbound flame infused in one among you. Not extinction, but ignition. A soul's core to bridge our realms."
Kael stepped forward, the schematics in his fist crumpling further, his alabaster face paling to match the crystals' glow. "It's me. Father—Alistair—experimented on me before the accident. These blueprints... they detail infusions from the Depths' edges. Silas knew, used it to control me. That's why he adopted me, molded me. The flame is my inheritance, twisted."
Silas, chained in the corner under Ironclad watch—now loyal to the Collective—let out a bitter cackle, his silver hair disheveled, eyes wild. "Inheritance? Curse, boy. Alistair dabbled in forbidden frequencies, drew from the Depths to amplify his 'degenerate' style. Infused you as a babe, thinking it'd make you a prodigy. Instead, it made you a conduit. Give it, and they claim your essence. Souls for secrets—the ancients learned that the hard way."
The envoy shimmered, tendril extending toward Kael. "The flame calls to us. Surrender it, and unlock the Score. Refuse, and the Depths retreat, leaving your city vulnerable to echoes of our awakening—tremors, floods, dissonant storms."
Lysander's mind raced, notes clashing in his head like a unresolved cadence. Visions from the dreams resurfaced: composing tempests with crystal harps, healing scarred slums with bone drums, but always a cost—shadows claiming creators, souls dimming like fading echoes. He glanced at Brynn, her expression a mix of defiance and concern, then to the Collective, their faces reflecting the weight of choice. Elara's drum thumped softly, a nervous heartbeat underscoring the tension.
"No," Lysander said, voice firm, mallet pointing at the envoy. "We're unbound, not bartered. The Anthem was fusion, not sacrifice. Explain the flame—what does it mean for Kael?"
The figure's harmony softened, a minor key slipping in. "The flame is essence distilled—creativity's core, amplified by ancient rites. Surrendering it binds him to us: visions shared, power channeled, but autonomy... diluted. He becomes bridge, not just man. Refusal severs the link; the Depths slumber again, but your surface world echoes with unrest. Choose swiftly—the monolith stirs."
Jax grunted, rod tapping the floor in rhythm. "Sounds like Silas's cage in fancy wrapping. We fought for freedom, not new chains."
Remy nodded, filing a crystal edge experimentally—SKRITCH—a high note that made the envoy flicker. "But imagine the inventions. Crystal-vein hybrids, instruments that command elements. Veridia could thrive— no more floods, factories humming with clean power."
Seraphine held up her slate: COST TOO HIGH? KAEL = FAMILY NOW.
Elara tugged at Lysander's coat. "Don't let it take him. Like it took your parents?"
The words stung, a dissonant stab. Lysander knelt, meeting her eyes. "We protect our own. But alliances demand trust."
Kael's posture straightened, the Conservatory precision returning like a familiar score. "Let me decide. All my life, controlled—by Silas, by fear. If this flame frees Veridia, binds the Depths to our cause... I accept."
Brynn's pipes lowered. "Kael... no. You're part of the melody now. We compose together."
But Silas's laugh echoed again. "Noble fool. The Depths don't ally; they consume. Alistair refused the full exchange, and it drove him mad—wild performances, the accident I orchestrated to contain the leak. You'll doom them all."
The envoy's tendril hovered, patient yet insistent. The Crucible trembled lightly, a prelude to greater unrest—distant rumbles from the streets above, where vein-amplifiers broadcast faint whispers, stirring unease among the crowds.
Lysander rose, mallet in hand. "We test it first. Compose a binding piece—here, now. Fuse surface and depths without sacrifice. If it works, alliance on our terms."
The figure inclined its head, harmony approving. "A trial. Play, Composer."
The Collective moved as one, honed by rebellion's forge. Lysander positioned at the Bone, now augmented with crystal struts from the Depths. He struck a central bracket—DOOM—a low bind, his bloodied palm pressing against the crystal, offering essence without full surrender. Brynn layered her pipes with soothing highs—WHIRL—like sea winds calming underground gales. Jax thumped a bone drum remnant—THUMP—grounding the rhythm, while Remy twanged a crystal harp string—TWANG—binding accents sharp and precise.
Kael joined at a makeshift keyboard of vein-keys, fingers dancing highs that mirrored the envoy's chimes—TING-TING—fusing his infused flame subtly, a tease of power. Seraphine banged scrap for punctuation—CLANK—propaganda in percussion, Elara's drum pounding the heartbeat—THUMP-THUMP—a child's defiance anchoring it all.
The music swelled, a trial movement: Binding's Trial. Lows to ground the Depths' hunger, highs to soothe its ancient rage. The envoy resonated, its form stabilizing, whispers quieting to harmonious undertones. Visions flickered in Lysander's mind: Depths' beings composing alongside surface artists, Veridia blooming with elemental art—rivers tuned to melodies, storms as symphonies.
But as the piece peaked, a discord slipped in—a hungry pull from the monolith below, tugging at Kael's core. He gasped, fingers faltering, a note souring. The envoy flickered. "The flame resists partial bond. Full exchange or none."
Kael slumped, sweat beading. "It... burns. But I can control it."
Silas sneered. "Lies. It demands all."
The tremor intensified, crystals cracking faintly, the Crucible's walls groaning. Outside, shouts echoed—crowds panicking as minor floods seeped from veins, dissonant winds whipping streets.
Lysander halted the piece, mallet clattering. "Enough. We refuse full sacrifice. Find another way, or slumber."
The envoy's harmony darkened, tendril retracting. "Refusal awakens echoes. The depths stir without guide—storms unbound."
The ground shook violently, a vein bursting nearby, water gushing like a broken pipe's wail. Alarms rang from the streets, the city's newfound unity fracturing under elemental chaos.
Brynn grabbed Lysander's arm. "We can't lose him. But Veridia..."
Kael stood tall. "Do it. For family. For the score."
The envoy extended again, tendril glowing. Lysander's heart tore, the hook sinking deep: save the city, lose his brother? Or risk all in defiance? The whispers crescendoed, demanding resolution, as floods rose and winds howled—a prelude to greater cataclysm.