Zeal stood, shushing Vye when the Bræmbel Shol made to inquire.
The two Shols exchanged a look of puzzlement.
"That noise." Zeal trailed off, grimacing.
But the Shols shared another bemused look and shook their heads in unison. Vye shrugged up at his companion, "I don't hear anything Zeal."
"Nor do I." the Dark Shol piped in, "Naught of immediate significance anyhow." A pause. "What is it that you hear?"
To this the Seeker was at a loss for words, the uncertainty a very odd look for the aloof man.
Shols by their own were highly developed in their six senses, yet Lockes's hearing was sharper than the average Shol. Odd then that neither of them had picked up on whatever alerted the Seeker.
And how to describe it such that the Shols could understand? Such a fickle thing it was. Achingly nostalgic, almost painfully so, yet just the same such a melody was unlike anything he had heard before, of this Zeal was certain.
How familiar it was, and as such struck a chord, although he couldn't place it and was sure he had never before heard it.
Somehow it almost seemed to tingle across his skin light as a butterfly's kiss, and in the same breath resonated deep within him.
Almost as if it wasn't something to hear. Yet he knew it was there. Like a vibration. A sound. A mournful cry, wistful and yearning.
At first he had thought it white noise, like that of silence grown overlong, but nay.
A sound not to be heard, but felt, he realized. Soft were its whispers, the baleful wail, that though seemed ever in mourning, yet exuded a fragile and tender warmth. One of comforting presence and which spoke of love unconditional.
Such love that it was nigh unbearable, painful to receive for so boundless was it that there was no returning such an unsolicited and so freely given gift, he found himself but undeserving.
Such set him with a flutter of his Heart that he could not shake off. One that set him aloft, yet ached terribly, burdened him so, and lulled him into a false sense of comfort.
"It's soft. A sound I hear not in my ears, but within mine mind. Arcanic influence perhaps?"
Lockes stiffened, and clipped out tersely, "The Plague Doctors... ?" Tentatively they reached through the aether, consciousness dispersing into the aetherical flow of the land and senses straining to feel for any anomalies.
The Northern Bluepine had seen the demented mind games played by the dark ministry of the Sanctum. Those beloved puppets so coveted by their equally deranged masters.
But the mercenary shook his head, "Nay. We would be able to feel the aetheric shift if so."
While true, Lockes would not allow themselves to be comforted just yet.
It was complacency that had cost them their Circle, and they would not be so quick to again trust what should have been a fail safe. That and the Plague Doctors were the subtle sort. Though their aetherical signatures were warped by those odd devices they wore, something that wouldn't have escaped notice for those sensitive to the flow, somehow Lockes doubted that some twisted form of concealment technology to be beyond their reach.
Still more puzzling was how familiar Zeal's description seemed to be, yet--
And then the dark Shol balked as it dawned on them. Vye tilted his head, curious to hear whatever revelation the they seemed to have come to.
"Zeal."
It couldn't be, and yet here they were.
The Seeker looked up at his name with mounting confusion. Such hesitation was strange to see on one who typically held themselves with strength and grace. Swallowing thickly, Lockes carried on, tone contemplative and just as perplexed as the Seeker felt, "Zeal, what you just described..."
And yet it was spoken in full confidence, leaving no room for skepticism, "... is the Heart's Song."
And it was no feeble resonant either. Lockes allowed their mind to drift, to see through the eyes of the Reaper.
And suddenly the world was filled with color, with Life, once more. Life that they could feel, could breath, and the nostalgia of what they were once a part of was shattering.
The discomfort was nigh tangible as he eyed the Alpione Shol, downturned and embittered. If this was a jest, it was in poor taste. But upon raising their face, the Bluepine met his gaze unflinchingly, steady and unyielding.
"That's not possible." Zeal spoke at last, as his companions both seemed reluctant to break the silence nor provide any explanation forthwith. Not that he would've expected one from Vye, there was far too much he didn't know, be it of the Reapers or his kindred.
Moreover, he cast a furtive glance in the young Shol's direction, things Vye didn't need to be privy to.
"Aye, I'd not believe it were it not so. How a Reaper could possibly be able to synchronize with the Heart's Song." they winced and turned away, "It is the cry of the Soul, of Life itself. That one whose nature is so drenched with blood, and whom consumes it to resonate so strongly."
Fronds flicked with the same dissonance that plagued the Bluepine, biting back the envy. They had forsaken the Verdance. It was by their own hand, their own choice, that they had severed themselves and tapped into the essence of Life itself.
But for the Reaper to touch the Life they could no longer even feel.
It was like a slap to the face.
Why couldn't they touch the Verdance?
