The forest was a blur of dark shapes and snapping twigs. Liora ran, her breath burning in her lungs, her arms screaming in protest. Lyra was a dead weight on one hip, her face buried in Liora's neck, her little body shaking with silent sobs. Kael, on the other hip, was too quiet, his head lolling against her shoulder. The backpack, stuffed with their frantic, hurried life, dug into her shoulders like claws.Elara ran beside her, her healer’s grace making her light on her feet even in panic. She kept a hand on Liora’s back, a steadying pressure. "Just a little further," she whispered, though she had no idea where 'further' was. "We just need to get to the river. It will hide our scent."The sounds from the house were gone now, swallowed by the thick trees and the thumping of their own hearts. That silence was worse. Was Ashiel okay? Was Ronan? The image of Ashiel catching that crossbow bolt was burned into her mind. It was a display of power that had saved them, but it had also confirm
The quiet after the Grey Song felt different, it wasn't the empty, waiting silence from before. This was a deep, earned quiet, like the feeling in a house after a long, hard day when everyone is finally safe and asleep.Liora held the page from her journal, the one that held Lyra’s silly song about the lost button. The light in it had faded to a soft, warm pulse, like a sleeping firefly. It was no longer a weapon, but a memory. A promise."We did it," Ronan said, his voice a low rumble that fit perfectly into the new quiet. He leaned on his axe, not because he was tired, but just to feel the solidity of it."We did," Elara said, but her healer’s eyes were on the children. Lyra was leaning heavily against Liora’s leg, her brave little song still hanging in the air around her. Kael was asleep in Ashiel’s arms, his small face peaceful, his job of anchoring done for now.Ashiel met Liora’s gaze over Kael’s head. He didn't smile. His eyes said everything. They are safe. You are safe. For n
The Remnant’s warning settled over the valley like a fine dust. It didn’t change their daily life, but it colored it. Liora watched her children with new eyes, seeing not just their power, but its cost and every laugh from Lyra was a relief. Every contented hum from Kael was a treasure. They were refilling, slowly, but the memory of their exhaustion was a fresh wound.The world outside, for a time, was quiet. No hungry silences tested the borders. No desperate pleas for healing came from Finn or the Order. It was as if the universe itself was holding its breath, waiting.Then, the whispers started.It wasn't the stones. It was the wind. At first, Liora thought it was her imagination. A faint, melodic humming that wove through the rustle of the leaves, it was beautiful, in a strange, hollow way. A perfect, crystalline harmony that had no source.She mentioned it to Ashiel one evening as they sat on the porch."I hear it too," he said, his brow furrowed. "It's coming from the east. It s
The victory in the Oldwood should have felt sweeter, they returned to the valley as heroes, Finn’s reports already spreading the tale of the singing children who could heal a dying forest. The Order of the Quill sent messengers, their voices full of awe and new hope. The world, it seemed, was ready for a new kind of magic.But in the quiet of their valley, a different truth was settling.Lyra, usually a boundless source of energy, was listless for days. She didn’t want to sing. She didn’t want to run. She just wanted to sit in Liora’s lap or lean against Ashiel, her thumb in her mouth, a habit she’d long outgrown. The vibrant, creative fire in her had banked to embers.Kael was quieter than ever. His usual contented hum was absent and he slept more, his small body seeming to need a deeper rest. When he was awake, he would stare at his sister with a worried, ancient look in his eyes, as if he could feel the emptiness where her song should be.They had poured too much of themselves into
The first winter with two children was a different kind of adventure. The valley, wrapped in a thick blanket of snow, became their entire world, the little house was a warm, noisy bubble of life against the silent white.Lyra, at three years old, was a force of nature. Her songs were more complex now, little stories set to music. She sang about the squirrel storing nuts, about the snowflakes dancing, about her baby brother’s tiny toes. Her power was no longer just a reaction; it was a constant, joyful expression of her being.Kael, now several months old, was her perfect counterpoint. Where Lyra was a bright, leaping flame, Kael was the warm, steady hearth. He rarely fussed. He spent his days watching, his dark eyes missing nothing. When Lyra’s songs filled the house, he would hum along, a deep, grounding vibration that seemed to sink her melodies into the walls, making the very wood remember the music.Liora found her role shifting again. She was still a Scribe, but her journals were
The last days of Liora’s pregnancy were a quiet, humming tension, the valley itself seemed to hold its breath and the stones’ song was a low, steady thrum of encouragement. Lyra was a constant, warm presence, her small hand often resting on Liora’s belly, her head cocked as she listened.“The song is getting ready,” she would whisper, her eyes wide. “It’s all… gathered up.”Elara was a pillar of calm efficiency. Herbs were prepared. Clean cloths were stacked by the hearth. Ronan, looking more nervous than he ever had facing a werewolf, kept the woodpile impossibly high and the path to the spring meticulously clear.Ashiel rarely left Liora’s side. His restlessness had returned, but it was a different kind. It was the energy of a sentinel waiting for the most important arrival of his life. He would feel the baby move and his breath would catch, his hand covering Liora’s, his eyes full of a love so fierce it was almost painful to behold.The baby came on a night when the autumn moon was