The success of the Siphoning Chime was a proof of concept, but the city was vast and thirsty. The "Harmonic Retrofit" became the Council's all-consuming mission. Teams fanned out, not with welding torches and wrenches, but with tuning forks and chisels, etching Stillpoint Spirals into the foundations of pumping stations and water towers.
The effects were subtle, then profound. A reservoir that had lain stagnant under its concrete lid began to show a gentle, clockwise swirl. The water tasted... clearer, though no filter had touched it. A power transformer that used to screech with the strain of channeling raw energy now emitted a low, contented hum, its output steadying.
But the old world fought its death rattle. In the industrial sector, a chemical plant, designed to process the inert byproducts of magic extraction, experienced a catastrophic failure. The unified Vitae in its cooling system reacted with the dormant chemicals. Instead of an explosion, there was a rapid, silent bloom. A forest of crystalline, rainbow-hued structures erupted from the plant's vents and pores, encasing it in a matter of hours. It wasn't destroyed; it was transformed into a bizarre, silent cathedral of alien geometry.
Lysander stood before it, not with fear, but with a scholar's intensity. "The magic harmonic, finding no conscious design to cooperate with, collaborated with the molecular structure of the pollutants. It created something new. Something stable."
Roxana arrived, surveying the glowing, impassable crystal forest. "So, the cleanup protocol is... aesthetic appreciation?" Her old sarcasm was tinged with genuine awe.
"It's a lesson," Sage said, staring at the beautiful, useless monument. "The Vitae is a partner now. A creative one. If we don't give it good plans, it will come up with its own. And we might not like the blueprints."