The world outside the Lantern Cavern felt louder.
Not with sound, but with feeling.
Even the wind felt heavier, as if it knew stories now lived in Elira's bones. Kesh walked beside her, quiet for once. Myn led them east, her fingers tracing invisible lines in the air. Niro followed, carrying the lantern, the soft glow brushing back the dark like a whispered promise.
They walked for two days.
And on the third, they heard it.
A song.
But not with words.
It was humming.
Low. Sweet. Sad.
The sound came from a forest so still the leaves never moved. Trees twisted upward like they were trying to escape the ground. Flowers bloomed in colors Elira couldn't name—soft blues that looked like forgotten sky, and pale yellows that tasted like morning.
"Do you hear that?" she whispered.
Everyone nodded.
"It's her," Niro said. "The one who sings."
They moved slowly, careful not to break the hush. The song led them like a string of sound, tugging their hearts forward. Birds watched them without moving. Even the bugs didn't buzz. It was like the whole forest was listening.
At last, they saw her.
She sat on a stone, barefoot, with her eyes closed.
She was young—maybe younger than Elira—but her hair was silver-white, and her skin glowed like moonlight on snow. She didn't speak. She didn't look. But she kept humming.
Around her, flowers bloomed in time with the music.
"She's dreaming," Myn whispered. "But while awake."
Niro stepped forward. "We don't have long. If she stops, the forest will forget itself."
"Who is she?" Elira asked.
"Her name is Solin," Niro said. "She was born in silence. And in her silence, she learned to sing the world awake."
Kesh frowned. "Then why is she alone?"
"Because no one listened," Niro said.
Elira stepped closer. The song wrapped around her like wind made of music.
She knelt beside Solin and whispered, "I'm listening."
Solin opened her eyes.
They were full of stars.
The song stopped.
The world held its breath.
Then Solin spoke—not with her mouth, but inside Elira's mind.
"Are you the flame?"
"Yes," Elira said. "Or at least, I think I am."
Solin blinked. Her voice in Elira's head sounded like bells and rivers.
"I have waited. I sang until my voice forgot me. Now you are here. The fire calls me. Will you sing with me?"
Elira took her hand.
"Yes."
They stood.
And the forest sighed.
Trees uncurled. Flowers shimmered. Light danced.
Then, from the trees, something growled.
A shadow.
Long. Crawling. Wet with silence.
Niro shouted, "Dampers!"
Creatures made of hush and hunger slithered from the roots. Their bodies were mist. Their mouths were nothing. But they moved fast—too fast.
"They hate sound!" Myn yelled. "Especially singing!"
Solin trembled. "They always come."
Elira turned to her. "Then let's make them leave."
She held Solin's hand tight.
"Sing," she said.
Solin nodded.
They sang.
Not with words.
With hearts.
With light.
With the memory of warmth.
The song rose like fire, like wind, like thunder wrapped in sunshine.
The Dampers screamed without sound. Their shapes twisted, cracked, and then broke. The trees joined the song. The ground hummed. Even Kesh laughed out loud, swinging his sword into the empty mist.
When the song ended, the world sparkled.
Solin wiped her face. "I haven't sung with anyone in so long."
"You don't have to be alone anymore," Elira said.
Solin nodded slowly. "Then I will come. I will sing when you need me."
Myn stepped forward. "The Circle grows stronger."
Niro lit the lantern again. "Three flames found."
Kesh grinned. "And four to go."
They turned to leave the forest, but before they did, Solin touched a tree and whispered a tune.
A new flower bloomed behind her, bright as a promise.
Elira looked back once.
The forest bowed.
And then they walked on.