As they walked away from the mountain's scar, the clouds parted fully.
Light spilled down the ridges, catching the crystals in their path, until the whole range shone like a crown—scarred, yes, but alive.
Seren looked back once, and for a moment thought she saw the shimmer of a great spirit coiled around the peak, resting.
She smiled softly. "Sleep well," she whispered.
Her mother's hand found hers. "Come. There are more songs waiting to be mended."
They descended together into the valley, the last drops of rain glittering like tears of light.
But halfway down the slope, Seren's steps faltered.
It began subtly — a tremor in her fingers, a stutter in her breath. The world seemed to sway, colors too bright, air too heavy. She blinked once, twice, trying to steady herself, but the ground tilted beneath her feet.
"Mother…" Her voice was soft, bewildered. "It's… humming again."
Before her mother could answer, Seren's knees buckled.
The River-Heart Crystal at her chest flared suddenly — a wild, frantic pulse of blue fire. The earth beneath her feet lit with glowing veins, racing outward like cracks in glass.
"Seren!"
Her mother caught her just before she hit the ground. The girl's body was trembling, light bleeding from the corners of her eyes, her veins shimmering faintly beneath her skin. The magic that had saved the mountain was now turning inward — devouring her from within.
The crystal's light surged once more, then dimmed, flickering erratically. A faint crack split across its surface, a sound like glass weeping.
"No, no, no…" Her mother pressed her hand over Seren's heart, trying to steady the rhythm of the light. "You've drawn too much. You should've let the mountain finish the song."
Seren's lips parted weakly. "I… couldn't. It was hurting."
Her mother closed her eyes. "And now you are."
The mountain rumbled faintly behind them — a deep, uneasy sigh. Its glow was fading into calm, the great wound healed. But in its stillness, something else had awakened. The air felt heavy, almost listening.
Her mother lifted Seren into her arms. The girl's warmth was fading fast, her breaths shallow and thin. Every step down the slope grew harder, every heartbeat fainter.
By the time they reached the valley floor, the world had gone quiet again — too quiet.
The rivers that had once sung softly along the vale now reflected her daughter's dim light, as if mourning in silence.
She found shelter in the hollow roots of an ancient willow, its trunk carved by time into a natural alcove. There she laid Seren down, her cloak becoming a blanket, her tears falling unnoticed onto the girl's face.
Seren stirred faintly. "It's cold," she whispered.
Her mother gathered her close. "I know, love. The mana's leaving you too fast."
She reached into her satchel, pulling out flasks of glimmering oil, bundles of dried flowers, and a single silver thread infused with runes. Working quickly, she traced symbols of healing along Seren's arms — delicate spirals and flowing lines that pulsed with faint light.
"Let the current return to the river," she murmured, her voice a low, steady chant. "Let the borrowed flow go home."
The light seeped gently into Seren's skin. Her shaking eased, her breathing slowed. But the crystal still pulsed erratically — unstable, splintered.
Outside, night crept slowly over the vale. The first stars emerged above the peaks, their reflections dancing in the waters below.
Her mother sat in silence, one hand upon Seren's chest, the other gripping her staff for strength.
The mountain slept. But she knew the world would not.
-
The night deepened, heavy and bright with whispering stars.
The willow's roots glowed faintly in the dark, drinking in the residue of mana that clung to Seren's fading aura. Her mother sat unmoving beside her, one hand pressed over the cracked crystal on her daughter's chest, the other gripping her staff — not for battle now, but for faith.
Every so often, the air would hum, and the symbols she'd drawn upon Seren's skin would shimmer before dimming again, as though the magic was breathing with her.
The girl's face was pale, lips barely moving.
"Hold on, my heart," her mother whispered, voice hoarse. "The current hasn't forgotten you."
But somewhere beyond that quiet, the wind carried something new — a low, distant sound.
Bells.
Cold and metallic.
Not the gentle ringing of wind chimes, but the sharp, measured tone of signal bells — a call carried by the Church's sentinels.
Her mother froze. The mountain had gone silent, yes… but the Church's ears were never deaf.
-
Seren drifted.
She didn't know if she was dreaming or sinking.
The world around her was neither dark nor bright, but something in between — a quiet realm of glimmering water that floated upside-down, sideways, and within itself. Threads of light stretched endlessly, some snapping, some weaving anew. Each pulse was a heartbeat, each echo a memory.
She looked down — or perhaps up — and saw herself lying beneath the willow, her mother's hand over her heart. The sight filled her with a sudden ache.
"Am I… dying?"
The words made no sound, but the ripples spread anyway. A figure began to form within them — soft, luminous, half-familiar.
It was the woman of light she had seen in the Dreaming Vale — the one who had walked the rivers of the sky.
The being stepped closer, her form like liquid crystal. When she spoke, her voice echoed with the sound of flowing water and breaking dawn.
> "You are not dying, River's child. You are remembering."
Seren's brow furrowed. "Remembering what?"
> "What it means to bear the current. You gave too much of yourself to heal the wound. The mountain sleeps now because you gave it your song."
The world rippled again — flashes of what she'd done. The moment her magic had collided with the Hunters' artificial mana. The way she had poured herself into the mountain's heart to stop it from shattering. She could still feel the burn of it, the vastness that had flowed through her veins until her body couldn't contain it anymore.
"I didn't want it to die," she whispered.
> "And so you took its pain," said the being gently. "But pain remembered is still pain shared."
Seren looked up. "Then what should I do?"
The being knelt before her, cupping her hands. Between them, a droplet of pure light appeared — pulsing softly, like the beat of a heart.
> "You must let the current forget you, before it consumes you. What you borrowed must return."
Seren hesitated. "But… if I let it go, what happens to me?"
> "You will be less," the being said, "but still you."
Seren's hands trembled as she took the light. It was warm — achingly familiar, like her own heartbeat. She looked into the figure's eyes and realized the truth.
The being's face — the lines, the smile, the gaze — mirrored her own.
It was her reflection. Or rather, what she might become.
> "The river flows onward," said the reflection softly. "Even if the banks crumble."
The light pulsed once more, brighter, then began to dissolve between her fingers, scattering like motes of dawn. Seren gasped — the world around her cracked like glass, and she fell through the fragments, back toward the sound of her mother's voice.
-
Outside, dawn was coming.
Her mother had not slept. Her eyes were hollow, her hair damp with dew, her hands shaking as she held the fading crystal.
When the first light of morning broke through the mist, the River-Heart flickered — once, twice — and steadied.
Seren's chest rose sharply. She gasped, air flooding back into her lungs.
Her mother froze, then let out a sound between a sob and a laugh. "Seren!"
The girl blinked slowly, the glow fading from her veins. "I saw her again… the one from the Vale."
Her mother's expression softened. "The river spirit?"
Seren nodded weakly. "She said I had to let it go. I think… I think I did."
Her mother brushed the girl's hair back from her forehead. "You did well, my love. The current returned. It's done."
But her words trembled — because even as she said them, she could see the change.
The faint blue gleam that had always lived behind Seren's eyes was dimmer now.
Her presence — once bright and resonant — was quieter, fragile.
Something had been spent that could never fully return.
Seren smiled faintly. "I feel… light. Empty, but light."
Her mother didn't answer right away. Instead, she drew her daughter close and held her as the wind stirred the willow's leaves.
"Rest," she murmured. "We'll move when the sun's higher."
But she didn't rest. She listened.
And she heard the echo of the Church's bells again — closer this time.
-
By midday, the smoke had appeared on the horizon.
Thin, gray trails rising from the northern ridge — a pattern too deliberate to be coincidence.
Her mother watched from the hilltop, her staff planted in the soil. The runes carved into its length flickered uneasily in the light.
"The Church wastes no time," she muttered. "They've seen the mountain's wound. They'll think we did it."
Seren sat nearby, still weak, wrapping her cloak tighter around her. "Didn't we?"
Her mother's eyes softened, but her voice remained steady. "We healed it. But they'll never see the difference."
Below, figures were already moving through the valleys — white cloaks glinting in the distance, accompanied by the metallic hum of Church machinery. The hunters again, though fewer in number. Their wands burned with pale, artificial light — scavenged perhaps from their fallen comrades.
They weren't searching. They were tracking.
"They know where we are," her mother said quietly. "The willow drank our mana. They'll sense its trace."
Seren tried to stand but nearly collapsed. Her mother caught her.
"No more magic," she warned. "Not until your flow returns. It could break you."
"But if they find us—"
"I'll handle them."
There was steel in her tone — the kind that came not from anger, but from conviction honed by years of survival. She turned toward the valley, eyes narrowing as the glint of white cloaks drew closer.
"Get your strength back," she said. "We'll need to move before dusk."
-
By the time the sun began to set, the valley was painted in copper light.
They moved quietly along the forest's edge, Seren leaning on her staff, her mother guiding her through the shadows. Every sound felt too loud — the crunch of leaves, the whisper of water, even their breaths seemed like thunder in the silence.
When they reached the far ridge, Seren paused, looking back.
From here, the glowing mountain was visible again — distant and radiant against the sky.
"It's beautiful," she whispered.
Her mother followed her gaze. "And dangerous."
The air shimmered faintly above the peak — the sign of residual mana still clinging to the stone. That light, once healing, was now a beacon for anyone who could read its language.
"Soon, the Church will mark it sacred," her mother said bitterly. "They'll turn what you did into doctrine. Another lie dressed in holy light."
Seren's lips parted, but before she could answer, something stirred in the forest below — faint at first, then clearer.
The sound of boots. Voices.
The ring of metal.
Her mother's expression hardened. "They're here."
-
Under the gathering dusk, the first torches appeared — ghostly glows weaving through the trees. The hunters moved in careful formation, their white cloaks muted by the dying light, their weapons whispering with false mana.
Seren and her mother crouched low behind a fallen trunk. The air trembled faintly with the hum of detection spells — pulses of cold magic sweeping through the forest like sonar.
"They're using Church Seekers," her mother murmured. "If they find us, they won't ask questions."
Seren's hand tightened around her staff. "Then what do we do?"
Her mother glanced at her — then at the cracked River-Heart Crystal on her chest. "We survive."
She pressed her palm against the earth, whispering an old incantation. The soil shimmered faintly, then darkened — swallowing the echo of their mana, masking their presence. A veil of quiet fell over them.
The seekers passed close. Too close.
Seren could hear their mechanical wands hum with restrained energy, the faint whir of runic gears inside their gauntlets.
For a moment, one of them stopped — turning slowly, scanning the shadows where they hid.
Seren's breath caught.
But then, from deeper in the forest, a horn sounded — distant, sharp.
The hunters turned, shifting formation.
One of them spoke — his voice muffled beneath his mask. "The scouts found something by the river. Move!"
And just like that, the group changed course, fading into the woods.
Her mother waited until the last echo vanished, then exhaled, long and slow.
"They're spreading their net. We'll need to cross the ridge tonight."
Seren nodded, but her strength was fading again. Every step she took left faint traces of light in the grass — her mana leaking, unable to contain itself fully.
Her mother noticed but said nothing. She simply took her hand and guided her onward through the dark.
-
They didn't stop until the stars were high.
The world around them was silent save for the sound of water — a stream winding through stone.
Her mother knelt, cupping a handful and letting it trickle through her fingers.
"From the same river that fed the mountain," she murmured. "It remembers you still."
Seren sat beside her, staring into the water. The reflection looking back was pale, hollow-eyed — a shadow of who she'd been.
"I don't feel like me anymore," she whispered. "It's like the river took something and didn't give it back."
Her mother touched her cheek gently. "Perhaps it's waiting for you to return when you're ready."
They sat in silence for a while — the kind that feels sacred, not empty.
And then Seren whispered, "Do you think they'll ever stop hunting us?"
Her mother looked up at the stars — steady, endless, and watching. "No," she said softly. "But that's not the same as being caught."
-
Far behind them, the bells tolled again — faint but clear.
A signal spreading across the land.
The Church of the New Light had found the scar in the mountain.
And in its cold reflection, they saw not healing, but heresy.
Their decree was swift and merciless.
> "The girl who commands the river — the false daughter of the light — is to be captured alive. Her mother, destroyed."
-
Beneath the starlit sky, unaware of the words now burning through the kingdom, Seren and her mother rested beside the stream.
And though peace held them for that brief, stolen hour,
the river's song had already changed —
its melody tinged with warning.
The world was remembering her again.
And this time, it would not be gentle.
-
The dawn broke pale over the valley. Mist clung to the grass like breath that refused to fade. Seren and her mother walked side by side, their cloaks pulled tight against the chill. The glow of the mountain was far behind them now, veiled in the horizon's haze — a ghost of light that still pulsed faintly when the wind shifted.
Seren's steps faltered. She was still pale, her lips tinged blue, her hands trembling as though her body had forgotten what warmth was. Every now and then her eyes glazed over, catching faint flickers of color — echoes of the mana surge that had saved the mountain but drained her hollow.
Her mother steadied her arm. "Just a bit further, love," she whispered. "There's a town at the edge of the vale. We'll rest there. You'll have broth, and I'll find a healer."
Seren nodded, though her voice came soft as mist. "Do you think… anyone will know?"
Her mother's gaze lingered on the road ahead — a narrow path carved through fields of pale reeds. "We'll keep our names quiet," she said. "For a while."
They reached the town by midmorning. It was small — stone walls ringed with timber, roofs of dull red clay. A bell tolled somewhere within, slow and distant. The scent of ash and wet iron filled the air. Merchants were already opening stalls along the square, though their chatter was subdued, and a heaviness hung over the place — a hush like after a funeral.
They entered through the east gate. A guard glanced up from his post but didn't speak; his eyes lingered a moment too long on Seren's pale face before he turned away.
Inside, life went on as if beneath a storm that hadn't yet arrived. A baker carried loaves dusted with ash instead of flour. A pair of children kicked a wooden hoop along the cobbles but never laughed.
Seren's mother found an old inn near the far end of town — "The Ash Mare." Its sign hung crooked, and the windows were fogged with age. Inside, a single hearth burned low.
The innkeeper, a stout woman with streaks of gray in her hair, gave them a weary smile. "Travelers?" she asked, her voice gentle but watchful.
"From the south," Seren's mother said smoothly. "We need a room for a few nights. My daughter's ill."
The woman's eyes softened at that. "Plenty of that going around lately. Rest yourselves. The roads aren't safe — not since the glow."
"The glow?" her mother asked carefully.
The innkeeper nodded toward the distant ridges. "They say the mountains burned with blue fire last night. Miners didn't come back. Whole camps gone. The Church is calling it an omen — or a curse. You're lucky to have come from the other side."
Her mother managed a tight smile. "Yes. Lucky."
They were shown to a small room upstairs, its single window facing the mountain. As soon as the door shut, Seren's mother exhaled deeply, her calm mask falling away. She guided Seren to the bed, laying her down with trembling hands.
Seren's eyes were half-lidded. "They're talking about it already," she murmured.
"Yes," her mother said. "Faster than I expected."
By noon, Seren had drifted into a feverish sleep. Her breathing was shallow, each exhale edged with a faint shimmer of light. Her mother sat beside her, grinding herbs from the pouch at her belt, mixing them into a bitter draught.
When she looked out the window, she saw smoke rising from the town square — not from firewood, but from parchment. The townsfolk were gathered around the well, where men in white cloaks pinned fresh posters to the notice board.
Even at this distance, she could make out the mark at the top:
The Sunbrand of the Church of the New Light.
Her heart froze.
She descended quietly, pulling her hood low. Outside, the crowd murmured.
"…said it was witchcraft…"
"…they found the miners' bodies twisted..."
"…the Church wants them alive — or their ashes…"
The parchment flapped in the wind. Two faces were drawn in rough charcoal — a woman and a younger girl. The likeness was crude, but unmistakable.
Seren.
And me.
A chill lanced through her. She turned and nearly collided with a cloaked man — one of the Church hunters. His armor gleamed faintly beneath the white fabric, the same design as those who'd fought them at the mountain. His gaze lingered, and she forced herself to bow slightly, lowering her voice. "Blessed light guide you."
He nodded but did not answer. His eyes moved over her face — searching, calculating — before he turned to the crowd.
She walked back to the inn with careful steps, her heart pounding against her ribs.
Seren stirred when she returned. "Mother…?"
"Hush," she whispered, pressing a damp cloth to her brow. "You must rest."
But Seren's gaze was unfocused, faraway. "I can still hear it. The mountain. It's angry. Or… afraid."
Her mother swallowed hard. "Don't reach for it again. You're too weak."
"I didn't try. It's just… calling."
Her mother looked toward the window where sunlight spilled across the floor, pale and cold. "Then we must leave before nightfall," she said softly. "They're already here."
By dusk, the hunters began moving through the streets.
They weren't loud — no shouting, no search parties yet — just quiet questions, gloved hands slipping coins to innkeepers and merchants. The Church had learned patience; they hunted like wolves, circling without noise.
Seren's mother packed what little they had — herbs, a loaf of bread, the River-Heart Crystal that pulsed faintly in its pendant.
Seren tried to stand, but her knees buckled. "I can walk," she insisted weakly.
Her mother caught her. "You'll walk when I say. Not before."
A knock came — soft but deliberate.
Her heart stilled.
The innkeeper's voice, muffled through the wood: "Mistress… there are men downstairs asking for you."
Her mother closed her eyes briefly. "Tell them I'll be down in a moment."
The floorboards creaked as the innkeeper hesitated, then moved away.
Seren's mother turned, voice sharp but tender. "Out the window, now."
Seren blinked through her fever. "But—"
"Now, Seren."
She pulled open the window. The alley below was narrow, shadowed by the inn's rear wall. A cart leaned against the fence, half-buried in straw.
Her mother helped her climb through, steadying her as she dropped softly into the hay. The scent of earth filled her nose. Moments later, her mother landed beside her, cloak drawn tight.
They slipped through the back lanes, moving between shadows as the first lanterns lit along the street. Bells rang faintly in the distance — the signal for curfew, or perhaps something worse.
When they reached the edge of town, the faint murmur of hooves echoed behind them.
"Mother," Seren whispered, clutching her side. "They're close."
"I know."
They darted into the reeds along the riverbank. Moonlight shimmered over the surface, turning it silver-white. They crouched low, breathing hard, while the sound of riders passed nearby — a flicker of white cloaks through the mist.
"Spread out!" one voice called. "They're said to travel as healers — woman and girl. The Church wants them alive!"
Seren's mother pressed a hand over Seren's mouth, her pulse racing. The riders' torches painted streaks of red across the reeds, then faded one by one as they moved farther downriver.
Only when the night fell silent again did she speak. "We can't stay in towns anymore," she said softly. "We'll have to keep moving — north, perhaps, into the forests beyond the vale."
Seren nodded faintly, leaning against her shoulder. "Are we… bad people now?"
Her mother hesitated — long enough for the wind to whisper through the reeds. "No," she said finally. "But the world doesn't always care who's good."
Seren looked up at the stars. "The Church will find us."
"Yes. But we'll make them work for it."
When the dawn came again, it brought no warmth — only the ash-colored light that gave the chapter its name.
Posters fluttered across the town square. The Church's white banners glowed under the sun, the faces on the parchment already spreading across nearby villages. The words beneath read:
By decree of the Holy Synod of the New Light: Seek and detain the heretics of the Vale — bearers of forbidden magic. Their light defies the divine order.
And beyond the horizon, riders moved in formation, their wands glowing faintly with artificial mana stones — the same pale imitation of power that once wounded the mountain.
The hunt had begun.
But deep in the forest path, far from the reach of the Church's banners, Seren and her mother walked side by side once more.
Seren's steps were slow but steadier now. The River-Heart Crystal pulsed faintly against her chest, echoing the rhythm of her heartbeat.
"Where will we go?" she asked.
Her mother's eyes glinted like steel beneath the morning light. "Somewhere they've forgotten to look for miracles."
They vanished into the mist, leaving behind only footprints — two trails winding through the ash-colored dawn.