The forest murmured, not with wind, but with pulse. The rhythm of something vast and patient, far below.
Nysha approached quietly, her steps soft, her face half in shadow. "You haven't moved for hours," she said.
"I was listening." Lindarion's tone was calm, but his golden eyes were unfocused, distant. "The Breath the remnant gave me, it's not silent. It's… alive."
"Alive?"
He nodded slowly. "Like a voice, buried deep in ember. It doesn't speak in words, only… impressions. Memories. Heat."
Ashwing uncurled slightly, blinking up at them. "So you've got another voice in your head now? Great. I was feeling left out."
Lindarion almost smiled. "This one doesn't talk much."
Nysha crossed her arms. "What does it want?"
