*Day 47 - The ruins of Crysillia, before the final march*
"You're insane," Ora said, watching Kaelen draw the circle with crystal dust.
"Probably." He didn't look up from his work. The dust sang as he poured it—not the haunting discord she remembered from the first days after the destruction, but something almost like words. Almost like voices. "But you need to hear this."
The circle was complex. Seven concentric rings, each one a different thickness, with runes that hurt to look at. Not Distiller runes—older. These came from his research into pre-Shaper texts, symbols that existed when death and life were less distinct.
"The dust remembers," Kaelen explained, adding the final touches. "Every grain was part of someone. Part of their final moment. Their last thought crystallized, literally. If we can find the right harmonic frequency..."
"We can talk to the dead."
"No." He stood, dusting off his hands. Crystal dust clung to his skin, making him shimmer in the dying light. "The dead are gone. But their echoes... their last moment... that's still here. Frozen in the dust."
"What's the point? Lyra's last words won't bring her back."
"No. But they might tell us something we missed." He pulled out a small chime, forged from metal that had survived the dragon's song. "You said she was in the harmonics circle. They were trying to hold back the destruction with pure harmony. What if they saw something? Understood something in that moment?"
Ora stared at the circle. Seven rings of dust from seven thousand dead. "This is ghoulish."
"This is necessary." Kaelen's voice was harder than she'd heard it. "We're marching to face Vorgoth in three days. We need every advantage. And you need..." He paused. "You need to say goodbye."
"I said goodbye when I braided her hair into mine."
"No. You said 'I'll avenge you.' That's not goodbye. That's a promise to hold on forever."
The corruption whispered: *Don't do this. I'm all you need. I sound just like her.*
But that was the problem. The corruption's version of Lyra was always agreeing, always encouraging violence. The real Lyra had been stubborn, argumentative, always pushing Ora to be better than her anger.
"Fine." Ora stepped into the center circle. "What do I do?"
"Hold this." Kaelen handed her a shard of the Crystal Mother—the last piece of Crysillia's heart. "And hum. Any note. The harmony will find itself."
Ora hummed. The note came out wrong, corrupted, discordant. But the dust didn't care. It began to rise, swirling around her in patterns that reminded her of the Academy's lessons on mathematical beauty. Each grain caught the light differently, created tiny rainbows that lasted microseconds.
Then Kaelen struck the chime.
The world exploded into memory.
Not her memory. Everyone's. Every last moment of every person who'd become dust. A thousand voices screaming, singing, praying, cursing. A mother telling her child she loved them. A guard spitting defiance. An old man laughing at the absurdity. A young couple promising to find each other in whatever came next.
And there, in the chaos of endings, Lyra's voice.
Not words at first. Just the sound of her breathing, fast and frightened but determined. Then, barely audible under the Symphony of endings:
"The dragons aren't the enemy. The song is wrong. It's not their song. Someone else is singing through them. The corruption—it's not from them. It's older. It's... oh gods, Ora, it's already inside the city. Has been for years. The merchant district. The coins. They're not—"
The crystal transformed her. The last word became light, became nothing, became dust.
But there was more. A fragment of harmony, the last note the circle of students had tried to sing. It wasn't meant to stop the destruction. It was meant to record something. Coordinates. Mathematical notation that pointed to—
"The merchant district," Kaelen breathed. "Underground. There's something there."
The dust fell, the moment ended. Ora stood in the circle, shaking. She'd heard her sister die. Heard her last realization. The Distillers hadn't just manipulated the dragons into attacking. They'd been in Crysillia for years, spreading their corruption through commerce, through those black coins.
"She knew," Ora whispered. "At the end, she understood everything. And she tried to tell us."
"The coordinates," Kaelen was already transcribing them. "They point to something specific. A vault, maybe. Or—"
"Vorgoth's real plan." Ora stepped out of the circle, crystal dust clinging to her corrupted skin like tiny stars. "He didn't just want Crysillia destroyed. He wanted something from it. Something that was already there."
As they prepared to leave, Ora saw them again - always there, always watching. The Five Constants. Sicc'ius was reinforcing a damaged support beam that would have collapsed on survivors. Ky'arah moved between the wounded with endless patience. S'pun-duh had found some impossible fungus growing in the corruption. Thom'duhr documented everything, every death, every survival. And F.D... F.D. stood at the edge of it all, like he was waiting for something only he could see.
The corruption whispered: *I could have told you that.*
"Shut up," Ora said to the voice wearing her sister's sound. "You're not her. You'll never be her. Lyra was brilliant and kind and she figured out the truth while dying. You're just an echo of pain trying to sound like love."
For once, the corruption had no answer.
They had coordinates. They had a clue. And Ora had finally heard her sister's real last words—not vengeance, not hate, but discovery. Lyra had died as she lived: learning, understanding, trying to help.
"Thank you," she said to Kaelen.
"For what?"
"For letting me say goodbye."
He nodded, understanding. The real Lyra was gone. But her echo, her final moment of brilliance, that would help them win. One last gift from sister to sister, delivered through the dust of the dead.
They would go to the merchant district. Find what Vorgoth had hidden. And maybe, just maybe, understand the real shape of the war they were fighting.
But first, Ora had one more thing to do. She gathered a handful of the dust—not much, just enough—and held it to her lips.
"Goodbye, little sister. I heard you. I understand. And I'll finish what you started."
The dust sang one last time—a single, pure note that sounded like Lyra's laugh—and then fell silent forever.
The echo was gone. But the truth it revealed would change everything.
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*End Chapter 21*
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