Chapter 7 – When Songs Refuse to End

"Some songs aren't meant to be heard. Some are meant to be survived."

---

The journey resumed in silence.

No one spoke for a while after escaping the Vale of Echoes. The wind carried a strange heaviness, as though the land itself mourned something lost—something forgotten. Birds didn't chirp, and the sun, while out, felt dim behind layers of sky too stubborn to weep.

Zayne adjusted the scarf around his neck, his brown eyes distant. The fragment of glass he'd taken—an echo of his shattered reflection—rested in a pouch near his heart. It pulsed faintly when he thought of her. Of home. Of blood.

He didn't understand what it meant.

Yet.

---

Three Days Later

The group had camped by the edge of a dense forest, the Ashen Grove, notorious for illusions and unnatural silence. Even the soil whispered when stepped on.

Kael sat sharpening his blade, half-listening to Saphren hum beside the fire. Velka remained alert, perched on a rock with her eyes closed—sensing danger the way some women sense lies.

Whisp played with a deck of illusion cards, flicking them through his fingers. Zayne, meanwhile, remained at the edge of camp, eyes to the woods, unmoving for hours.

"I swear he doesn't blink," Kael muttered.

"Grief does that," Whisp replied softly. "Turns you into a statue and a storm at once."

Saphren's humming stopped.

"He's changing."

They all looked at her.

"Something happened in the Vale," she continued. "He's not angry. He's... drifting."

Velka opened her eyes.

"He'll either find the killer of his family, or he'll become someone else entirely."

---

Zayne's POV

The forest called to him.

Not with sound, but with a pull—a tension behind his sternum. The same pull he felt when he stared at the night sky and thought he saw her silhouette in the stars.

"Mother…"

He stepped forward, past the warded edge of camp. The trees didn't shift. They bent.

The bark curved inward as he passed, and the leaves turned to follow his movement.

Then—

A whisper.

"Come, son of Solenne."

He froze.

"Who's there?"

No response.

Then a light flickered—a tiny, dancing wisp of silver. He followed it. Deeper. Deeper. Past roots shaped like skeletal fingers, past a stream that shimmered like liquid glass.

And then…

He found her.

No, not her. A projection.

It was her face. His mother, standing barefoot atop a stone slab surrounded by glowing runes. Her hair swayed in phantom wind, her eyes warm but unreadable.

Zayne stepped forward. "Mother…?"

Her lips moved.

"He's not who you think. Look beyond the man, and you'll see the monster."

"What do you mean? Who?"

"The one who gave you your eyes."

Zayne's eyes widened.

"My—?"

Before he could finish, the vision erupted in a vortex of petals. The forest groaned, and the runes burst into flames of violet.

He stumbled back, clutching his chest. The fragment pulsed again. This time, hotter.

A voice echoed in his mind.

"He lives… and he's watching."

---

Meanwhile

Back at camp, Velka shot up, daggers drawn.

"Zayne's in trouble."

Kael groaned. "He can handle himself."

"No." Saphren stood. "That part of the forest—no one survives it alone."

Whisp sighed and stood as well. "Guess it's time we trust the creepy forest, after all."

---

They found Zayne lying by the rune slab, hand gripping the fragment.

His eyes were open—but tears ran down.

"I saw her."

---

Hours Later – At Camp

The mood was quieter.

Zayne hadn't spoken much, only to say, "She left a message," before sitting down and cleaning his blade.

Kael approached, leaning on his sword. "You okay?"

"No."

"Need to talk?"

Zayne glanced up. "She said I have his eyes."

"Who?"

"My father."

Kael frowned. "I thought he was—"

"Dead. Or missing. Or both. I don't know anymore."

Zayne rose and threw a rock into the fire.

"She warned me. Said he's a monster in disguise."

Kael blinked. "That's heavy."

Zayne's jaw clenched. "If he's alive… he'll answer for it. Just like the one who killed them."

---

Two Days Later – Road to Serenthia

Their journey brought them to a trade town full of color and fake smiles. Serenthia was a hub of secrets.

Posters of missing people lined the walls. Street performers danced while thieves plucked coin purses behind the scenes.

The group entered an inn, The Crooked Feather, run by an old blind woman with gold teeth.

She smiled at Zayne.

"Your shadow walks beside you, boy."

Zayne stiffened.

"Do I know you?"

"No." Her smile widened. "But I know him."

She touched the scar near Zayne's collarbone—the one that never healed.

"Same eyes."

Zayne backed away.

"Who are you?"

"Just a woman who's seen too much," she said, already vanishing into the back.

---

That night, Zayne woke in cold sweat.

A dream. His family's house.

But this time, the killer had whistled.

A strange, five-note tune. Faint. Melancholy. Almost… nostalgic.

He clutched the shard.

The killer left a tune.

A clue.

---

Final Scene – The Dancer in Red

In a distant castle wrapped in stormclouds, a man in crimson danced through a ballroom of dead nobles. Strings played from nowhere. Blood trailed behind him like ink.

He stopped mid-step, sensing the shard activate.

"Ah… The boy awakens."

He turned to a mirror—and smiled at his own reflection.

"You've grown well, son."