The dream? Total grey-out. I was smack-dab in Oakhaven, but it was all smoke and ash, like a ghost town. My folks were by our place, faces blank as eggs. I tried to reach them, but they kept moving away, fading like sugar in water. A low hum filled the air, like the cave stones, but twisted into a nasty chord that rattled my bones. Shadowy figures came out from between the houses – more Ash-Singers, their eyes lighting up one by one, surrounding me. I tried to push them back, use my nothingness power, but it was gone. I was just empty.
I woke up gasping, the hum still ringing in my ears. The cave was dark, the crystal lamp barely on. Lyra was standing still near the entrance, watching the sunrise. The dream felt cold and heavy, but now I knew the hum was the world's Chroma. If I was near that...
You were talking in your sleep, Lyra said, not turning around.
Bad dream, I mumbled, sitting up. The world was still its normal, boring self, but the grey felt different after last night. It was like a thick fog, and I could tell stuff was moving around inside it.
Dreams can be your mind trying to deal with new stuff, she said. That fear? It shows what matters to you. Don't let it control you.
She tossed me some dried meat and some weird fruit. Eat up. Big climb today. The Nexus is deep in the mountains.
I ate, but the dream still bothered me. Last night... I felt the stone's song. The Umber.
And? she asked, sounding like a teacher.
Heavy. Old. Patient. It just came out, like I already knew it.
Good, she said, a hint of approval in her eyes. First thing about being a Scribe: See stuff clearly. You gotta learn what each Chroma is like before you mess with it. Umber's the base. It's steady. Forcing it would be like rushing a mountain. Work with it.
We left the cave into a pale dawn. The air was thin and cold, smelling like pine and stone. The Serrated Fangs were sharp and jagged, and the path Lyra picked was barely a goat trail up a cliff.
The climb really took it out of me. My lungs were burning, and my legs were screaming. Lyra moved super easy, of course. I just focused on the rock under my hands, trying to feel the Umber's steady hum. It was there, a constant beat, and focusing on it calmed me down.
After hours of climbing, we got to a narrow ledge on the side of the mountain. Big drop to our right, straight down into a misty valley. The wind was strong, trying to pull our clothes off.
Stay focused, Lyra yelled. The wind here carries Zephyr's Chroma – air and change. It's wild. Don't let it mess with your head. Stick with the Umber.
I pressed against the cliff, feeling the rough stone. I breathed in, trying to find the mountain's song. Steady. Strong. The wind faded away, just background noise to the rock's beat.
We were halfway across when I felt it. Something was wrong.
It was like something scratching the Umber's song. Sharp, jagged, and nasty. It didn't sing; it screeched.
Lyra, I said.
I feel it, she said, stopping and grabbing her rod. Something's wrong. Something messed this place up.
The ledge opened up into a small alcove. There it was.
A gash in the cliff, like something ripped it open. The rock around it was black and brittle, like slag. A gross, pale light came from the gash – like a sick, yellow color. It looked like the screeching sound I felt. The stone was falling apart into dust.
What's that? I whispered, feeling sick.
A Blight, Lyra said, sounding angry. Prime Chroma's followers did this. They don't just drain Chroma; they poison it. They twist the song into a weapon.
She stepped forward, tense. This is new. The Ash-Singer was doing this.
The screeching was killing my senses. The very stone around it seemed to be crumbling, turning to dust.
I wanted to block it out, like I always did.
Can you fix it? I asked.
I'm an Aurelian. I'm Violet—protection and clarity. I can hold back a Blight, but I can't clean it up. Violet's a scalpel, not a balm. She looked at me. But you... you're a Scribe. You aren't stuck with just one color. You could mess with them all.
I got scared. Me? I just make stuff grey.
You stop it, she said. This Blight is a scream. What if you tried to silence a sick song?
That was scary. I don't know how, I said.
Me neither, Lyra said. I've never trained a Scribe. But if we leave this Blight, it'll spread. It'll mess up the mountain and kill everything. It's like cancer. And you, Kaelen, you're neutral. Like a reset button.
She was serious. I looked at her, then at the wound in the mountain. I thought about the Umber being messed with. I thought about the dream with my parents fading away. This was a smaller thing.
I had always just been some passive thing. Now, I was supposed to be active?
I stepped forward. The screeching got worse, making me sick.
What do I do? I asked, voice shaking.
Reach for it, Lyra said, standing next to me. Not with your hands. Focus. Like you did with the Umber. Find the Blight's scream. And then... push. Don't change it. Just be quiet.
I closed my eyes, trying to ignore everything. I focused on the feelings. I found the Umber, which was steady. Then, I found the Blight.
It felt wrong. Life hated.
I pushed.
Everything went silent.
The screeching stopped. The light in the gash went out. The black rock turned normal. The Umber came back stronger. Like a song that had got restored.
I stared. The gash was still there, but it was just there.
I had done that.
I stumbled back, and slumped against the cliff. I was beat. My head hurt.
Lyra was there. Breathe, Kaelen.
She saw the Blight, the look of fury on her face got replaced with something like awe.
See? she said, softly. You aren't a weapon. You're a balance reset. You can quiet the scream so the song can be heard again.
I looked at my hands, the ones that had made toys go lifeless. They had just silenced something bad.
It was messed up. My power was useful. The grey wasn't nothing; it was a canvas.
I was exhausted, but something new was there.
Not hope, yet.
But also not hate.
It was the purpose.