The Sundered Sky
THE BATTLE OF VOICES
Not all the gods chose to remember.
One of them — the pillar of fire — refused. Its flames grew brighter, hotter, more hungry. It had been angry for so long that anger had become its only identity. Without anger, it was nothing.
“I will not forget,” it roared. “I will not forgive. I will not fade.”
“Then what will you do?”
“Burn.”
The pillar of fire lunged at the Spire.
Lyra sang.
Not the Song of Remembrance. The Song of Shields. The barrier of golden light flared, meeting the flames, holding them back.
But the fire was strong. Older than the Sundered King. More powerful. It pressed against the shield, cracking it, weakening it.
“We need to help her,” Morwen said.
Seraphine nodded.
The Choristers sang.
Dozens of voices joined Lyra’s, strengthening the shield, repairing the cracks. The pillar of fire screamed in frustration.
“You cannot hold me forever.”
“We don’t need to hold you forever,” Lyra said. “Just long enough for you to remember.”
“I remember nothing but fire.”
“Then remember this.”
She sang the Song of Healing.
The song that mended broken bones and infected wounds. The song that restored the soil and purified the water. The song that healed the heart.
The pillar of fire trembled.
“What are you doing?”
“Reminding you. Of what you were before the anger. Before the hunger. Before the forgetting.”
“I was… I was…”
“Love. You were love.”
The pillar of fire collapsed.
Not into ash. Into light. Golden light. Warm light. The light of the first song.
When the light faded, a figure stood in its place. A man, tall and broad, with skin like copper and hair like embers. His eyes were no longer flames. They were brown. Human. Tired.
“I remember,” he said.
“Welcome home,” Lyra said.