The Chorus spread, but not like a uniform wave. It was a patchwork of revival. A Heartwood of singing pine stabilized a mountainous region, its harmonic sharp and clean, purifying acidic runoff. In a sodden lowland, a weeping willow's melody coaxed stagnant waters into a slow, filtering dance. Each node's song was unique, shaped by its environment and the people who nurtured it.
The Council's role shifted from command to curation. Regina's new maps didn't show command zones, but harmonic signatures—overlapping fields of influence labeled not with numbers, but with names: The Oak's Resolve, The Willow's Sigh, The Pine's Keening.
Rex became a travelling diplomat of optimism, visiting new nodes. "Your song is vital!" he'd tell a nervous group tending a fledgling apple-tree node. "It's not about matching the Spire; it's about answering it! The Oak provides the foundation, your Apple provides the sweetness! Together, we have a richer meal!"
Dissonance incidents occurred. The Pine's Keening, broadcast over a wide area, clashed with a young, experimental node of singing cactus in a desert borderland, causing the Vitae there to vibrate into a painful, piercing whine that drove settlers away. It was Charlotte's predicted "Babel."
The solution came from the ground up, not the top down. Keepers of the Pine and stewards of the Cactus met in the tense, buzzing border zone. They didn't have Council mediators. They had tired farmers and determined gardeners. After a day of argument, a young cactus-keeper had an idea. "Your note is high. Ours is low and dry. Maybe we don't need to play at the same time. Maybe we take turns."
They arranged a simple, sun-based cycle: the Pine's song would dominate during the moist, cool morning. The Cactus's deeper, thirstier resonance would hold sway during the hot, dry afternoon. A rhythm was born. The piercing whine softened into a daily, alternating pulse—a call and response across the biome.
They had invented their first treaty. Not of words, but of tempo.