The world hummed.
Not with life, but with Tempo.
Kythe closed his eyes. Just for a second. Just to feel it. There—beneath his feet, the heartbeat of the forest. Subtle. Like the pause between heartbeats.
"Kythe," Raya hissed from ahead, perched beside a crook in a fallen gravetail tree. "You stop every ten steps. It's a miracle the lantheron hasn't bitten your leg off."
Kythe opened his eyes, scowling. "You don’t hear it?"
"I hear you breathing too loud."
They shouldn’t have been here. The Whispering Wood was beyond the outer runes—sacred territory, sealed off since the Severance. And yet, here they were.
They had snuck past the night sentries with a decoy skywinder whistle Aelin had built from scavenged bone. It mimicked the high-pitched sonar cry of the skeletal birds. A perfect distraction for the outer guards.
Kythe glanced back, heart racing. If Matron Irelda found out—if Tarn found out—they’d be grounded for moons.
Alba Clan Customs and Beliefs
The Alba were a clan of silence, of watchers. Tempo, to them, was a rupture in the balance. They kept to tradition—steam tools, signal flags, and prayer by flame. They performed the Rite of Quiet Flame each month, a ritual to cleanse their thoughts and suppress the pull of Tempo. Children learned to still their emotions, to walk without sound, to never draw attention to the rhythm beneath the earth.
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Kythe never understood how to not feel it.
When Lyra had her first fit and the healers failed her, it was Tempo that stirred in him—a single beat, a whisper—and her fever fell. No one spoke of it. Not even Tarn. But Kythe remembered. And he remembered being afraid.
Sketch: Kythe Alba
- Age: 13
- Hair: black, messy, often pulled into a half-tie with sinew cord
- Eyes: Gray-green
- Personality: Impulsive, protective, drawn to the unknown
- Attire: Soft-wool scout tunic, stormweave gloves, hollow boots
- Quirk: Taps his thumb against his chest when nervous—a mimic of Tempo’s rhythm
They reached the glade by dusk.
The clearing was half-swallowed by root and fog. A single figure sat at its center, cross-legged atop a flat stone veined with glowing mycelium. His robe was tattered, his beard like frost-cracked bark. Maelor.
He did not open his eyes.
He simply spoke:
"You came with noise. You came with fear. Tempo hears both."
Raya stiffened beside Kythe. Kythe swallowed.
"You—know who we are?"
Maelor’s eyelids lifted. Milky irises glinted like moonlit water. "You are echoes. Of something broken. Of something buried. But you are not yet lost."
He motioned with two fingers. The ground between them shivered. A thin line of spores lifted from the moss and spun slowly in a spiral.
Tempo Technique: The Spiral Touch
- Gesture: Two fingers raised; index and middle draw an inward spiral
- Effect: Amplifies the user’s pulse to temporarily slow ambient movement in a small radius—useful for escaping or listening
- Drawback: May trigger fatigue if used while heart rate is unstable
Raya took an instinctive step back. Kythe, trembling, stepped forward.
Sketch: Raya
- Age: 14
- Hair: Blonde, clean-cut, practical
- Eyes: Amber-brown
- Personality: Controlled, skeptical, competitive
- Attire: traveler’s cloat, pulse-dampening boots
- Quirk: Cracks his knuckles when agitated
Maelor gestured to a smooth stone.
"Sit. And listen. The world is remembering its song. You’re just the first to hear the chorus."
Kythe sat.
Raya didn’t.
But he didn’t run, either.
Somewhere behind them, a skywinder hawk shrieked. The forest held its breath. Tempo pulsed beneath the moss.
And the story began.