In the vast collective unconscious that was the Ash, the perception of Kael's resonance had returned, this time as an annoying, intermittent pulsing.
It had felt the signal reappear, then vanish again, only to re-emerge in a different location. Not a single, persistent source of energy to assimilate, but an exasperating sequence of scattered flashes.
This new tactic generated a palpable "frustration" within the Ash's mind. It was not a human emotion, but the equivalent of an anomaly in its primal logical process. It had already made a judgment error, considering the previous resonances to be isolated phenomena.
Now, this repetition of "appearances and disappearances" in different places forced it to a conclusion: these were not generic resonances of the Dream Realm, but something specific that was moving and hiding.
The Whispering One, its most direct emissary, was the first to receive the impact of this irritation. Its dream mind, which until that moment had acted with cold efficiency, began to experience an unprecedented form of perceptual chaos. The Silent Guardian would appear and vanish, re-emerging at points the Whispering One believed it had already "emptied" or controlled.
Its "hunt" had become a frantic game of chase.
"Reach it! Seize that resonance! Do not let it fade!" The Ash's commands arrived like mental lashes, devoid of words, yet filled with an urgent, irritated determination.
The Silent Ones, in the waking world, moved again.
Having abandoned the route to Aris, they now received new directives, forced into rapid and convoluted movements across the territory. Their efficiency, already compromised by the previously orchestrated deviation, was further reduced. They could not chase a shadow that lacked a logical path.
It seemed the target was leaping from one place to the next.
In the Deep Foundation, Master Elian perceived the intensification of the Ash's activity. His network of dream perception revealed the growing "annoyance" in the Whispering One.
"Anya," his voice was calm but firm, "the Ash is realizing that these are not random phenomena. They are starting to connect the dots. They have sensed your first Guardian reappearing. It is time to shuffle the deck."
Anya, now fully rested and with her clarity refined, nodded. She, too, had sensed the Whispering One's agitation, an echo in her empathetic mind. "Where, Master?"
"In the old mine to the east," Elian commanded. "A location we have used before. Brief appearance, but strong. Then, Lyra, prepare the other Keepers. When Anya is ready for a recharge, each of you will channel energy in turn. This will not only sustain her but will infuse the Guardian with a slightly different signature each time it reappears, adding to the Whispering One's chaos."
Anya closed her eyes.
The energy converged, this time supported by the first Keeper in line, who was supplying part of their dream energy. The image of the Silent Guardian materialized in the old mine, an explosion of resonance that propagated through the Dream Realm.
The Whispering One perceived the signal. 'Again! But there? I had cleared that area…'
Its "mind" contorted in what for a human consciousness would have been a cry of frustration. It ordered the Silent Ones to head for the mine, their speed increasing in an impetus of false hope.
But as soon as the Silent Ones approached, the Silent Guardian dissolved again.
"Now, Anya," Elian said, his voice full of strategic calm. "A brief rest for you, with the support of another Keeper. And then, another random appearance. Next, a spot we haven't used yet. And then... back to the willow forest, a place we used only once at the beginning of your penalty, weeks ago."
The strategy was diabolical in its simplicity: to create a labyrinth of temporary illusions.
The Keepers would use Anya and her Silent Guardian to dance with the Ash's perception, making it chase a phantom. Each appearance was bait, each disappearance a moment of recovery for Anya and a growing frustration for the Whispering One.
The Ash, for its part, continued to perceive only a pattern of irregular "flares."
Its primitive "logic" led it to one conclusion: this was not an attack, but a series of small, uncoordinated resistances. The Whispering One was failing to suppress them.
The mental "lashes" of pain intensified for the Whispering One. The Ash knew no pity. It did not have a "voice" in the literal sense, but the impulse it emanated was unmistakable: 'Faster! Find the source! This inconsistency is intolerable!'
The Whispering One, an extension of the Ash, felt like a raw nerve exposed to constant pressure. Every failure in capturing the Silent Guardian was perceived by the Ash not just as a tactical error, but as an unforgivable inefficiency of its own will. The pressure mounted, an invisible vise tightening its grip on the Silent Guardian's dream essence.
'But Master,' the Whispering One thought, a thought not expressed in words, but as a resonance of desperation trying to filter into the Ash's consciousness. 'The source is elusive. It dissolves before we can grasp it. It is a mirage, not a substance!'
The Ash's response was immediate and brutal, a mental scourging sharper than the previous ones. It was not a sound, but an electric jolt of pain that surged through its dream mind, causing it to writhe in agony. 'Its elusiveness is due to your inability. Your weakness is its strength. Find a way. Or you will be reabsorbed.'
The Whispering One recoiled, its "mind" throbbing with pain that verged on true agony, an unprecedented sensation for an entity of the Ash. The idea of being reabsorbed was the greatest threat, the annihilation of its individuality, however limited. It was not death as humans understood it, but a forced fusion with the limitless, indifferent consciousness of the Ash, losing all semblance of separate purpose.
'But the variables,' the Whispering One dared to think again, with the barely audible resonance of a plea. 'The energy signatures change. The locations are random. The Silent Ones are confused, scattered.' There was no emotion of fear in the human sense, but a cold, desperate logic attempting to present an objective analysis of the problem.
Another scourging, this time accompanied by a distortion of its own ethereal form. The Whispering One felt stretched and compressed simultaneously, an almost physical experience in the dream dimension. The Ash's impulse was clearer now, closer to an explicit command: 'Inconsistency is unacceptable. Order the Silent Ones to regroup. Search for the pattern in the chaos. A pattern always exists. Your failure is in not seeing it.'
The Ash's "voice," or rather its impulse, became a constant wave of pressure on the Whispering One. It was no longer an occasional lash, but continuous torture. Every thought the Whispering One formulated, every attempt to analyze the situation, was permeated by this mounting pain. Its cognitive processes, usually so linear, were becoming fragmented, just like the appearances of the Silent Guardian.
'There is no pattern,' the Whispering One almost whimpered, its thought distorted and weak. 'It is pure chaos! An orchestra of dissonances!' Its perception was blurring under the assault; the efficiency that had distinguished it was crumbling.
'Chaos is the illusion of the inept,' was the Ash's relentless reply. 'Find order. Subdue the resistance. Or the resistance will defeat you. And you, with it.' The threat was now explicit and constant.
The Silent Ones' energy in the waking world became even more frantic, their movements less efficient, like puppets whose strings were pulled with excessive force and in contradictory directions. Their dream senses were overloaded with contradictory and fading signals, making their hunt a test of endurance rather than skill.
The Whispering One, pushed to the limit of its tolerance, decided to change tactics. Instead of ordering the Silent Ones to chase every individual flash, it sent a more general command: 'Form a net. Cover the primary areas. When a resonance appears, everyone converge!' It hoped that a broader coverage could at least trap the Guardian long enough to intercept it.
But this decision was desperate. Dispersing the Silent Ones meant reducing their force of impact and their ability to react rapidly. The Whispering One knew this, but the pressure from the Ash was such that any action, even a risky one, was preferable to inaction or continued failure.
'Ineffective,' the Ash resonated, perceiving the disordered redistribution of the Silent Ones. 'Dispersion. Weakness. Remember your purpose.' The scourging this time was not just pain, but also a wave of cold disappointment that enveloped the Whispering One, a feeling of being evaluated and found insufficient. It was the most subtle, yet perhaps the most devastating, punishment.
The Whispering One was an extension of the Ash, and its "failures" were the failures of its master. Its hunt was turning into an agonizing ordeal, an agony of inefficiency and mental pain, while the distant echo of the resonances danced mockingly through the Waking World.
But someone else had noticed this dance of strange energies, and it was not a servant of the Ash…