The mountain was bleeding light.
The trail from the Dreaming Vale had led them upward into the high passes, where the air thinned and the world stretched wide beneath the clouds. The peaks of the range glowed faintly at dusk—veins of living light threading through the stone as though the mountains themselves were alive, their hearts still pulsing with old magic.
Seren and her mother stood before the largest of those peaks, a mountain so vast its summit was lost in mist. The glow beneath its surface was pale and steady, like a heartbeat half-hidden beneath skin.
"The Singing Mountain," her mother whispered. "I never thought I'd see it again."
Seren tilted her head, listening. There was indeed a sound—a low, resonant hum, echoing faintly through the air, so deep it vibrated in her bones. It wasn't noise. It was a voice. The mountain was alive.
But as they approached, that harmony faltered.
The glow that should have been gentle had turned ragged. Streaks of red fire coursed through the stone, burning through the mountain's veins like infection. Smoke rose from newly carved tunnels near its base, and the air stank of burnt metal.
Seren's stomach twisted. "Something's wrong."
Her mother's jaw tightened. "Someone's wounding it."
They followed the trail down the ridge. Soon, the hum of the mountain was drowned out by the clatter of machinery—harsh, mechanical, alien. When they crested the final slope, the sight below made Seren's blood run cold.
The hunters had built a camp in the mountain's shadow.
Rows of white tents stood in strict lines, their cloth marked with the emblem of the Crown of Lumen, the same order that once hunted mages in the southern plains. Tall pylons crackled with blue energy, channeling power from the mountain's heart into crystalline batteries. Workers—miners and artificers—moved like shadows between them, wearing ash-grey coats reinforced with brass joints and goggles that glowed with artificial sight.
At the camp's center, white-cloaked soldiers stood guard—the Hunters of the New Light. Their armor gleamed unnaturally, inscribed with etched runes that pulsed in rhythm with the artificial mana cores embedded in their wands. These weren't simple mages. They were engineered conduits of the Church's machine-magic.
And beneath the largest tent, a great wound split the mountain's side—an excavation pit lined with metallic drills and pulsing sigils. Within it, raw mana bled from the stone, streaming upward like liquid light, only to be trapped inside the Hunters' machines.
Seren stared, horror spreading across her face. "They're… stealing it."
Her mother's eyes darkened. "No. They're corrupting it."
They crouched behind a ridge, watching as a miner—clad in soot-stained leather and iron harnesses—hauled up a glowing shard the size of his arm. The man's face was hidden behind a bronze respirator. Around his waist hung a device that hummed faintly, siphoning off ambient mana like a leech.
One of the white-cloaked Hunters approached him. "Be careful with that, miner," he said coldly. "That stone is worth more than your life."
The miner hesitated. "It's unstable, sir. The readings—"
"Then work faster before it destabilizes," the Hunter snapped. He turned, his cloak sweeping like a blade of light. The mana stone in his wand flared briefly, feeding on the mountain's bleeding current.
Seren's hands trembled. The sight of that crystal—ripped from the earth, still pulsing weakly—made her chest ache. "We can't just stand here."
Her mother placed a hand on her arm. "No. But we cannot rush in blind either."
"What will happen if they keep mining?"
"The mountain will collapse from within," her mother said grimly. "When you wound something ancient, its magic seeks balance. And balance often comes as disaster."
As if to prove her words, a low tremor rolled through the ground. The mountain groaned—a deep, pained sound. The air grew heavy with static. Several miners stumbled, clutching their tools. A nearby pylon flickered, then burst in a shower of sparks.
The lead Hunter shouted orders, his voice sharp over the chaos. "Contain the surge! Stabilize the flow!"
But the damage was spreading. The veins of red light crawling up the mountain's surface pulsed faster, almost frantic.
Seren clenched her fists. "They're hurting it, Mother."
"Yes," her mother said softly. "And you must decide how much mercy to give those who harm what lives."
Seren turned to her, meeting her steady, unreadable eyes. "Mercy?"
"Even cruelty can be born of ignorance. But this…" Her mother looked down at the camp. "This is willful desecration. If they will not listen, then the mountain will make them."
The wind rose—carrying the faint metallic tang of mana in the air. The ground beneath Seren's feet seemed to thrum in answer to her heartbeat.
She took a slow breath. "Then we'll make them listen first."
Her mother gave a single nod. "Then let the storm answer."
-
They descended like shadows.
The mists rolled in as if obeying their unspoken call—thick, veiling the slopes. Seren moved silently between boulders, her hand brushing against the mountain's surface. Beneath her touch, the stone shivered faintly, as though recognizing her.
The mana veins pulsed once, glowing brighter.
She whispered softly, "I'm here. Hold on."
When they reached the edge of the excavation pit, Seren saw the bleeding core up close. It was heartbreakingly beautiful—raw mana glowing within fractured crystal, its light alive with shifting colors. She could feel it reaching for her, weakly, like a wounded creature.
Then a shout cut through the mist. "Intruders!"
A white-cloaked Hunter raised his wand. The gem embedded in its core flared crimson, and a blast of searing energy sliced through the fog.
Seren moved on instinct. She swept her arm upward, and the mist obeyed—condensing into a wall of rippling water that absorbed the strike with a hiss of steam.
Her mother's staff struck the ground beside her. "Now."
In the blink of an eye, golden light erupted across the slope. Sigils flared under the earth, pre-drawn by her mother's hand—lines of power forming a radiant circle that trapped the forward line of Hunters. The very air warped as their mechanical wands shorted out, sparks crackling from overloaded circuits.
But the others were quick. A squad of four raised their artificial wands, linking them together. Blue conduits formed between them, combining their power into one. The air screamed as a focused beam of mana tore toward the two women.
Seren dropped to one knee, slammed her palm against the ground—and water erupted upward like a geyser. It spiraled into a towering shield, scattering light in all directions. The attack struck it, bending and refracting into harmless rays. The energy diffused into steam that wrapped them both in glowing mist.
The Hunters advanced through it, unrelenting.
Their white cloaks fluttered, masks expressionless. The mechanical joints of their gauntlets hissed with each movement. Their wands pulsed like artificial hearts, glowing with unstable energy.
One of them shouted, "By order of the Crown of Lumen—you are under arrest for interference with sanctified excavation!"
Seren rose to her feet, water coiling around her wrists like serpents. Her hair clung to her face, wet and radiant with mana. "And by order of the living world," she said quietly, "you are trespassing on a god's body."
She raised her hand.
The ground cracked.
Water surged from the mountain's veins, answering her call in an instant. It flooded the pit, swirling upward into spirals that shone with reflected light. The Hunters fired—bolts of pure, burning mana—but Seren twisted her wrist, and the river itself bent around her, swallowing the blasts.
Her mother's voice rang behind her, calm and sharp as a bell. "Seren—left flank!"
Seren turned just as a Hunter lunged from the side, his wand-axe glowing red. She caught his strike mid-swing, the weapon freezing inches from her face—encased in a shell of glacial ice. With a sweep of her arm, she sent him flying backward, shards of frost glittering through the air.
Another came at her. Then another.
The battle turned into a storm.
-
Her mother fought beside her—not with water, but with light. Every motion of her staff painted gold across the battlefield, each stroke forming radiant sigils that burst into controlled explosions. Where she stood, the air shimmered, warding away strikes. Her magic was disciplined, methodical—a scholar's precision forged into war.
Seren was the opposite. Her movement was pure flow—dancing through water and mist, turning each attack into motion. Every time she exhaled, droplets shaped themselves into blades, whips, waves. She wasn't fighting the Hunters—she was moving through them, like a river through stone.
But even as they fought, the mountain roared beneath them. The wounded mana core pulsed faster, unstable. The Hunters' drills were still running, feeding their machines.
Seren's voice rose over the chaos. "We have to stop the extraction!"
Her mother's reply was grim. "Then we stop it at the source."
She raised her staff high, golden light radiating outward—and the mountain answered, its entire slope glowing in response. The air grew heavy with pressure, charged with the weight of awakening.
The Hunters looked up, alarmed. "What's happening?!"
Seren's mother's eyes glowed like suns. "You have angered a sleeping god."
The ground split open.
-
The mountain smoked beneath a bruised sky.
Ash drifted like slow snow, settling over splintered glass-rock and half-buried machines. The Hunters' first dig had torn deep wounds in the slope, and the veins of mana that once glowed gently now bled light into the air.
Seren stood among the ruins, her cloak torn, her hair lifting in the heat rising from the cracks. Every breath tasted of metal and dust.
Behind her, her mother's staff shimmered faintly, the runes around its tip burning gold as she traced a warding circle to keep the fumes away.
Far below, white-cloaked figures moved through the haze—Hunters regrouping, their armor flickering with the pulse of the artificial stones set into their breastplates. The clatter of gears echoed up the ridge as they re-armed their mechanical wands, each socket already gleaming with the stolen light of mined mana.
" They're not stopping," Seren whispered.
"No," her mother answered. "The kingdom never does. It believes the mountain's heart is only ore."
A low rumble trembled under their feet. The slope exhaled steam; fissures glowed like veins awakening.
Her mother looked toward the summit. "The mountain remembers pain. We must end this before it wakes in anger."
-
The Hunters advanced in formation—rows of white like bone against black rock. The commander raised his wand, its crystal core spinning with artificial blue fire.
"By decree of the Crown, the site is claimed!"
The mountain answered first. A hum, soft at first, rolled out from the wound below them. The air thickened. Stones began to levitate, trembling in invisible current. The commander shouted an order—too late.
The hum became a roar.
Seren's heartbeat matched it. She stepped forward, palms open. Threads of silver light coiled from her fingertips, snaking across the ground and into the fissures. Water surged up through them—not liquid, but light shaped like water, luminous and alive. It swept outward in arcs, striking the Hunters' line. Their shields flared, bending under the force.
Her mother moved beside her, staff spinning once. Rings of gold burst outward, deflecting the counterblasts of mechanical fire. Each strike left a glyph in the air, glowing for a heartbeat before fading.
"Steady, Seren," she called. "Feel the current—don't fight it!"
But Seren's pulse was already racing faster than the mountain's own. Every cry, every flash of stolen mana drove her deeper into the flow. The water-light around her grew brighter, turning from silver to white. The Hunters fired again, beams of forged energy lancing through the mist. Seren raised both hands.
A wall of liquid light rose like a wave. The blasts struck it—and refracted, splitting into a thousand shining arrows that fell back upon the valley like rain. The air smelled of ozone and burning frost.
-
Her mother strode through the storm, every step tracing sigils beneath her feet. Her movements were measured, graceful. When she lifted her staff, the runes along its length answered her heartbeat, sending arcs of gold between them. With a soft command, she redirected the falling shards of light, turning destruction into a dome that shielded the mountain's wound.
"Enough," she murmured. "The mountain is alive. Listen."
For a breath, everything paused. Even the Hunters hesitated, awed or afraid.
Then one of their machines—huge, spider-like, driven by glowing engines—lurched forward, its claws drilling into the exposed mana vein. The sound was a scream.
The mountain convulsed.
-
Light erupted from the wound.
Not gentle, not kind.
It surged upward in a column that tore through the clouds, painting the sky with shifting color—emerald, amethyst, gold. The Hunters were thrown back, their cloaks igniting in the brilliance. Machines froze mid-motion, gears seizing under the weight of pure energy.
Seren fell to her knees, hands pressed to the ground. She could feel it now—the consciousness beneath the stone, old and patient and hurt. It whispered through her bones:
"Why do they dig? Why do they tear the song?"
She didn't answer with words. She felt back, sending through the link every memory of the Vale, of healing, of her mother's lessons. Her body became conduit; her tears fell, glowing as they touched the ground.
The light changed. It softened—still vast, but no longer wrathful.
Then the Hunters fired again, desperate. One blast struck near her mother. The dome faltered.
Something inside Seren broke loose.
-
The air stilled, and all sound folded inward. For a heartbeat, there was silence—so pure it hurt. Then the world exhaled.
Rivers of light burst from Seren's back like wings, sweeping the field. The streams curved around the mountain, fusing with the veins that glowed beneath the rock. Every motion of her arms shaped the current: arcs of white, spirals of blue, circles of clear flame. The mountain sang through her—ancient syllables without words.
The Hunters' constructs melted into silence, their mana stones shattering like glass struck by harmony. White cloaks scattered; their voices drowned beneath the roar of returning magic.
Her mother's voice cut through the light. "Seren! Enough—let it rest!"
But Seren couldn't hear. The current had taken her. The river was endless, the mountain's pain infinite. She became both healer and storm.
Her mother reached her through the flood. She pressed the glowing end of her staff to Seren's chest, near the River-Heart Crystal.
"Listen, my child," she whispered. "Let it flow through you, not from you."
The crystal pulsed once—twice—then steadied. The torrents slowed. The radiance dimmed to a trembling glow.
-
The storm ended in rain.
Real rain this time—cool, cleansing, falling on the scorched slope. Steam rose from the broken ground. The Hunters were gone, scattered into the mist; their machines lay quiet and dark, their mana cores turned to stone.
Seren stood at the center of a shallow lake that hadn't been there before. The water mirrored the dawn breaking through the thinning clouds. Her mother joined her, exhaustion etched across her face.
"You heard it, didn't you?" she asked softly.
Seren nodded. "It was… angry. And sad. Like something that remembers being whole."
Her mother looked toward the summit where faint light still bled from the cracks. "The mountain will sleep again, but its wound will not forget. Nor will you."
Seren glanced down at her hands. The glow beneath her skin was fainter now, but still there, pulsing with a rhythm not entirely her own.
"I felt it see me," she whispered. "And I don't know if it was grateful—or warning me."
Her mother smiled gently, though her eyes were tired. "Both, perhaps. Power always remembers the hand that touched it."
They stood together in the quiet. Around them, wildflowers already pushed through the wet soil, feeding on the residual mana. The sky cleared slowly to silver blue.
-
Before they left, Seren knelt and touched the lake's surface. Ripples spread outward, and for an instant she saw shapes within—serpents of light swimming beneath the water, the echo of the guardian she had freed before.
She whispered to them, "Rest now."
The ripples stilled. The reflection of the mountain shimmered back, whole again, though the scar across its face gleamed faintly like a healed wound.
Her mother laid a hand on her shoulder. "You've mended what they broke, but remember—healing costs energy. Even the world must rest after such pain."
Seren nodded, feeling the weight of the quiet settle inside her. The air was softer now, almost forgiving.
"Will they come again?" she asked.
"Hunters always return," her mother said. "But so does the river."
They turned down the slope. Behind them, the lake glimmered like an open eye slowly closing. A breeze carried the scent of rain and crystal, and in it, faint words seemed to hum through the stone:
"Flow gently, child of the current. The world still watches."
-
And as they walked away from the mountain's scar, the clouds parted fully.
Light spilled down the ridges, catching the crystals in their path, until the whole range shone like a crown—scarred, yes, but alive.
Seren looked back once, and for a moment thought she saw the shimmer of a great spirit coiled around the peak, resting.
She smiled. "Sleep well," she whispered.
Her mother's hand found hers. "Come. There are more songs waiting to be mended."
They descended together into the valley, the last drops of rain glittering like tears of light.