The successful defense was a strategic victory, but for Kael, it was a Pyrrhic one. The Council of Roots celebrated their newfound resilience, their collective harmony now tempered in the fire of a real attack. Lyra’s wind-song held a new, fierce pride; Baren’s foundational rumble a deeper, more unshakeable certainty. They had proven their philosophy could not only create but also protect.
But Kael was crumbling.
The process of transforming the Scarab’s data-phage had been less like composting and more like digesting poison. He had been the primary filter, the living crucible where hostile chaos was forced into harmony. The psychic residue of that act clung to him, a greasy film on his soul. The gentle hum that had been his constant companion was now a strained, discordant thrum, like a
