The sky held its breath.
The Everborn stood before the Ashborn—not as a god, not as an enemy, but as a conductor without a baton. The Song no longer strained for restoration. It waited now, ready to evolve, not by force or prophecy, but by intention.
"You hold the chords," the Everborn said.
"You are the measure."
"Begin."
Kairo looked at the others.
Seven souls that had journeyed from brokenness into harmony. Each of them carried a different tone, a different truth. There was no right song to sing now.
Only the one they would choose together.
He knelt, placing his palm on the basin floor. The Songmarks on his arms pulsed. Around him, the others followed.
Solen's fingers formed a subtle chord, humming low and curious.
Lira struck a counter-note, sharp but warm.
Theren answered with rhythm—feet planted, strong, unshakable.
Yui weaved in with a soft melodic thread that wrapped through them all.
Ryn layered harmonics that had never existed before.
Kei held silence, the sacred pause—so when sound came, it meant something.
And Elarin, the Echo, provided the closing pitch: raw, imperfect… human.
Kairo opened his mouth.
And sang.
Not with words.
With memory.
With possibility.
He sang the way people might live if they had no fear.
He sang children into forests reborn.
He sang wind through cities long forgotten.
He sang peace—not as an ending, but a practice.
He sang choice.
The others joined.
Together, they composed the First Note of the New World.
And as they did, the basin blossomed.
Stone turned to soil.
Air vibrated with fresh melody.
The scars of war rewrote themselves as gardens.
The stars above shifted to form a new constellation: a spiral of eight.
The Song no longer needed protectors.
It had found voices.
The Everborn bowed.
Then stepped backward into the spiral of light and disappeared.
Not dead.
Not erased.
Simply passing the baton.