The glitch in the grain-store wards was a fire bell in the night. Kaelen could no longer treat this as a classroom issue. The following morning, he called a council. He summoned the founding members of Haven: Elara, whose healer's wisdom was a steadying force; Roric, whose blunt pragmatism cut through uncertainty; and Bren, his most senior student, who understood the nuances of the Aether-Weave almost as well as he did. He also, reluctantly, invited Old Man Hemmet. The man was a gossip and a pessimist, but he was also a canary in the coal mine for the settlement's fears.
They gathered in Kaelen's study, the morning light casting long shadows across the map-strewn table. The dead river stone and the grey leaf sat in the center, a silent, damning exhibit.
Kaelen did not mince words. He laid out everything: Lyra's initial incident, the spread of the ability among the youth, the emotional nullification, and finally, the direct impact on their enchanted infrastructure. "It is not mere rebellion," he concluded, his voice grave. "It is a new form of magic. Or perhaps... anti-magic. And it is attacking the foundations of everything we've built."
A heavy silence filled the room, broken by Hemmet's reedy voice. "I said it from the start! That girl was touched by the Blight! She's a carrier! We should have quarantined them all the moment it started!"
"That is fear talking, Hemmet, not sense," Elara countered, though her own face was pale. "They are children, not plague-rats. They are overwhelmed. The world we have given them is one of constant, magical stimulus. We feel it as a song. I fear they feel it as a cacophony."
Roric, who had been leaning against the wall with his massive arms crossed, grunted. "So the children are... stressed? And their stress breaks things?" He shook his grizzled head. "In my day, if you were stressed, you chopped wood until your arms ached. You didn't make the axe handle turn to dust."
"It is more than that, Roric," Bren spoke up, his young face serious. "Master Kaelen is right. It's a fundamental negation. It doesn't just suppress magic; it severs the connection to the Weave itself, if only for a moment. It's like... it's like they've found a way to create a tiny, temporary dead zone."
"And these 'dead zones' are eating our food stores," Roric shot back, his pragmatism turning to anger. "We cannot survive a winter on rotten grain. What is your plan, Kaelen? Do we reason with this... this malaise?"
All eyes turned to him. This was the moment. He was their leader, their Stone-Singer. He was expected to have an answer.
He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of their expectation, a heavier burden than any stone. "There are no easy answers. A direct confrontation will only drive them further away and likely make the problem worse. We cannot punish them for a power they do not yet understand."
"Then what?" Hemmet demanded. "We sit and watch as they unravel Haven thread by thread?"
"No," Kaelen said, his resolve hardening. "We must understand it. And to do that, I must go to the one being who has seen the full depth of the Silence." He met Elara's worried gaze. "I must return to the Sky-Anvil. I must speak with the Warden."
A ripple of unease went through the room. The Warden was a figure of myth, a guardian of truths too vast for most to comprehend. A journey to him was not undertaken lightly.
"It is a moon's journey there and back, at least," Bren said quietly. "Can Haven spare you for so long? And what if the situation here worsens?"
"It will worsen," Kaelen said with a grim certainty. "That is why you must all stay. Elara, you must try to reach the children, not as a disciplinarian, but as a healer. Understand their exhaustion. Roric, you must secure our physical infrastructure. Find non-magical ways to reinforce the grain stores, the lights. We may have to remember how to live without the Song, if only for a time."
He looked at each of them in turn, binding them to this desperate strategy. "Bren, you are in charge of the school. Do not try to force them to Sing. For now, focus on history, on botany, on anything that does not require them to touch the Weave. We must lower the volume of the world, as they are trying to do, but through control, not annihilation."
It was a patchwork plan, full of holes and desperate hope. But it was all he had.
The council ended with a somber air. As the others filed out, Elara lingered.
"This feels familiar," she said softly, coming to stand beside him. "You, leaving on a desperate journey to find answers from an ancient power while we hold the line here."
He gave a weary smile. "Let us hope the ending is better this time."
She placed a hand on his arm. "The Warden sees the world in eons, Kaelen. He may not understand the troubles of a handful of tired children."
"He understands the Silence," Kaelen replied, his gaze turning towards the window and the distant, impassive peaks. "And this new power is its echo. I have to believe he will see the connection. I have to believe he has an answer."
He packed lightly that afternoon. A bedroll, a waterskin, a pouch of journey-bread. He did not take the main gate, where questions and worried looks would delay him. He slipped out through a side passage used by the herders, the weight of his responsibility a heavier pack than any he could carry.
As he began the long, familiar climb into the mountains, the vibrant, anxious Song of Haven faded behind him. But the new, chilling silence he carried within him did not. It was a question, screamed into the stone, and he prayed the mountain itself would have an answer.