A heavy silence settled between them, thick as canyon dust after a sandstorm. Cormac stood by the cave mouth, the stark light of the Delta illuminating the weariness etched on Valerius’s face. Words felt fragile, inadequate. He wanted to speak, to offer some truth, but what could he say? Was he to apologize for the resonance in his very bones, for a whisper-song that mirrored ancient fears? His gift, this power that flowed through him, felt older than the Sunken Spires themselves, yet it carried the weight of their buried conflicts. Valerius moved, breaking the tension with a light clap on Cormac’s shoulder. “Desert-born, don’t look like the weight of the Delta rests on your shoulders. You weren't at the First Sundering, were you?” Cormac offered a small, stiff nod. Valerius's eyes, however, seemed to hold a distant, enduring ache. “The past,” Valerius continued, his voice softer, “is a hungry beast. If we feed it with more blood, the fighting never ends. Only the common folk, the quiet lives, bear the true cost.” Even as he spoke, the grim lines around Valerius’s mouth did not quite fade. Cormac studied the knight, seeing past the polished armor to the man beneath. He asked, quiet as a falling stone, “Do you regret it? Asking me to come down from the canyon?” If Cormac pursued the whispers of power Valerius now spoke of, he would inevitably be drawn into the world of the Spires, perhaps even aligning with a lineage whose very memory stirred unease. A formidable wielder of primordial energy, untamed and unknown, could shake the fragile peace between the great Houses. It was a risk to House Solara, the noble line Valerius served. But the knight shook his head. “I have seen your spirit, Cormac. A quiet strength. A care for things beyond yourself. If the deeper song of the Delta can find a voice through you, perhaps you could prevent the next great sundering.” Cormac felt a prickle of unease. Valerius overestimated him. He had simply craved conversation beyond the wind's howl, offered aid because he didn’t wish to see a companion fall. No grand ambition fueled his actions, only the simple pulse of duty and kindness his mother had instilled. Valerius saw the doubt in Cormac’s eyes. He let out a short, tired laugh. “No need for such heavy thoughts. You haven’t pledged yourself to the Spires yet, have you?” “Not yet.” Cormac admitted. To be honest, wandering the old routes, seeking out forgotten places, felt far more appealing than any gilded cage the Spires might offer. He felt a vague, ancient resistance to that world of stratified power and hidden agendas. He would see more of the Delta this way. “I’ll remain here until your wounds are truly mended, Valerius. Then I’ll consider it.” “Wounds?” Valerius scoffed, a flash of his usual swagger returning. “A few scrapes, canyon dust in the cracks. Barely a bruise!” He burst into hearty laughter. --- While Valerius rested, Cormac took the opportunity to delve deeper into the nature of his gift. He had always wielded it instinctively, a raw, untrained talent. “Primordial energy,” Valerius began, gesturing with a hand still wrapped in bandages, “the latent vibrations you perceive and manipulate—some call it the ‘Key to All Things’.” “The Key to All Things,” Cormac echoed, the words tasting like ancient dust on his tongue. “But it is not truly omnipotent. To manifest great feats, a price is always paid, a resonance drawn from your own wellspring. You’ve felt this, no?” Cormac nodded. Each whisper-song, each tremor of power, left him feeling drained, a subtle hum lingering in his bones. “What determines the cost, the resonance required?” This question had gnawed at him for as long as he could remember. Valerius cleared his throat lightly, holding up three fingers. “The difficulty, the price of the song, is shaped by three main factors. First, **Resonance**. Second, **Familiarity**. And third, **Causality**.” Resonance, Familiarity, Causality. Cormac focused, carving the words into his memory. “Resonance,” Valerius explained, lowering his hand, “is simply your innate attunement, a natural affinity. It is why those from House Viridia, the Sunken Spires’ renowned healers, can mend bone and flesh with ease. Their inner song resonates with life’s own fragile pulse. You, Cormac, could not easily mend my broken ribs, could you?” “No,” Cormac confirmed, remembering the searing ache that had consumed him even trying to soothe the beast’s injuries. A wave of regret passed over him, sharp as a shard of obsidian. If he had possessed such a gift, his mother… He bit back the thought. The past was an unchangeable ruin. “Now, Familiarity,” Valerius continued, drawing Cormac back to the present, “is akin to practice, to habit. The more often you shape a particular vibration, the easier it becomes. A Sun-Touched artisan who daily works with the Desert’s light might find it easier to ‘sing’ a warm glow into a dark cavern. You, for instance, hurl flame like stones, no?” “It feels… natural,” Cormac admitted. When the Echo-Beast lunged, the instinct to weaponize the vibrations had been swift, almost automatic. “Precisely. Had you merely willed fire into being, a gentle flicker, it would have been less potent. But your ingrained motion, your honed intent, shaped the power with greater force.” Valerius offered a small, approving smile. Then, the knight’s brow furrowed. “The third and final factor, Causality, is both the most vital and the most elusive. Truthfully, even I grasp only fragments of it. Simply put, events that are more ‘natural’ in their progression require less of the song’s current.” Valerius stroked his chin, searching for the right words. “What would happen, do you think, if you tried to kill me with the primordial song right now?” Cormac considered this. “Your head would shimmer, perhaps. But nothing else.” He remembered the surge of power against the Echo-Beast, how it had flickered and dissipated before he channeled it into a tangible form. “Exactly. That is a lack of causality. There is no proper ‘cause’ for the desired outcome, or the desired outcome is too grand for a single, unformed whisper. In your case, likely both.” “I think I understand the ‘cause’,” Cormac murmured. “Explain.” “To kill you, I couldn’t simply wish you dead and expend energy. I would need to provide a cause. To manifest a bolt of flame, for instance, and send it towards you. It’s more ‘natural’ for a bolt of fire to injure than for an unfocused thought to kill.” He had learned this during the battle, shaping the raw energy into a weapon that could be understood, could impact. Valerius clapped his hands softly. “Astounding. You could have been a lore-keeper, Cormac. Your insight is rare. As you said, forming a proper cause can dramatically reduce the demand on your inner wellspring.” “But why then,” Cormac asked, a new puzzle forming in his mind, “can I subdue common desert beasts so easily, yet the Echo-Beast resisted? What was different?” He had always quieted wolves with a thought, turned away sand-vipers with a directed pulse of energy. The Echo-Beast’s defiance had been unprecedented. “Creatures that harbor their own deep wellspring of primordial energy,” Valerius explained, “develop a natural resilience to its direct manipulation. However, if you manifest an already completed spell – a bolt of flame, a wave of force – and let it make contact, you bypass much of that innate resistance. Of course, if the disparity in power is too vast, the song might still fail. But that is another lesson.” This, Valerius elaborated, was why Cormac’s formed flame had consumed the reanimated beast, while Valerius’s own direct spell had barely grazed its ethereal form. He understood now: direct influence upon a powerful wielder of the song was nearly impossible. Cormac pressed his thumbs against his temples, a dull ache blooming behind his eyes. “The song… it is not simple.” “A true master of the song isn’t just one with a mighty voice. It is understanding its principles, knowing what you can bend, and how to shape the currents around you. It is wisdom, not just power.” Cormac closed his eyes, reviewing the lessons Valerius had imparted. One thing still puzzled him. “My song, my family’s old way… did it have any specific strengths?” He remembered Valerius’s description of his unusual senses—a keen awareness of subtle tremors, sight that pierced the deepest gloom, an uncanny precision in all his movements. None of those had seemed directly magical. Valerius nodded. “The old whisper-singers, those who once embraced the shadow-resonance, they excelled at **Silence** and at **Seeking**. Have you ever tried either?” Cormac had used Seeking, a form of tracking, occasionally. To find lost goats, or check on his mother during her solitary hunts. It had even led him to Valerius himself when the knight was in peril. But Silence, he had never needed to conceal himself in the vast, empty canyons. “Try it now,” Valerius urged. “Many wielders of the song can bend light to create basic invisibility, but the highest form of Silence, that which completely removes oneself from perception – sight, sound, scent, even the faint vibration of existence – that was the domain of your lineage’s deeper song.” Cormac focused. He sought to quiet his own vibration, to dull his existence in the vast song of the Delta. He did not wish to be seen. He did not wish to be heard. He did not wish his presence to be felt. As the thought solidified, the primordial energy within him flowed outwards, rapidly depleting from his core like ripples in dark water. He looked down at his hands, his body. Nothing appeared to have changed. “Did it work?” he whispered, his voice sounding oddly distant. Valerius stared blankly in Cormac’s direction, his eyes unfocused, fixed on the empty space where Cormac had stood. “It worked,” the knight murmured, his voice laced with a tremor. “I cannot see you. Are you still there?” Cormac rose from his seat, moving slowly around the small cave. He stomped his foot lightly on the stone floor, snapped his fingers. Valerius remained unresponsive, his gaze unwavering from the spot. Not a flicker of recognition. Not a twitch of an ear. Satisfied, Cormac eased the flow of energy, letting his presence reform. Valerius blinked, his eyes sharpening, then let out a deep, shuddering sigh, as if a great weight had been lifted. “It has been a long time since I felt that,” Valerius said, his voice hoarse. “Back during the Sundering Wars, the Sun-Touched Legions prayed the night would never come. Many mornings, entire detachments of soldiers were found, their throats cut without a single alarm raised.” “This… this feels like an unfair advantage,” Cormac said, the power suddenly chilling him. It was a terrifying ability, far beyond the healing gift he’d once longed for. How could anyone fight a foe they couldn’t even perceive? Valerius shook his head slowly. “It is not invincible, Cormac. No song is.”

The Unsung Echoes