The scream of the silence was literal. A high-frequency pitch that turned the island’s humidity into a shimmering, audible haze. It wasn't just in my ears. It was in the marrow of my bones. The Composer stood motionless, her eyes reflecting the bioluminescent glow of the loom, waiting for me to surrender to the threads.
"Become the instrument," she whispered, her voice layered with a thousand echoes of my own past. "Weave the data of human suffering into a tapestry of peace. You have the access, Elian. You have the frequency."
Kael stepped up beside me, her hand gripping my arm with such force it bruised. "Don't touch it, Elian. Look at the threads. They aren't just light. They're heartbeats. She’s not asking you to weave a new world; she’s asking you to harvest the remaining ones."
I s
