The catharsis of the Deep Listen left a profound stillness in its wake. The weeping mountain's song did not vanish, but its sharp, lacerating edge was gone. Its sorrow was now a steady, bearable hum in the background of the world's resonance, a shared burden rather than a solitary scream. In both communities, a new depth had been etched into their spirits. They had learned that some wounds could not be healed, only witnessed, and that witnessing was itself a form of medicine.
The Sentinel's Chorus resumed, but it was different. The shield around the First Note was no longer just a barrier of defiance; it was now woven with threads of the mountain's lament, making it more nuanced, more resilient. It was a shield that understood pain, and understanding made it stronger. The vigilance continued, a wearying but vital rhythm. The void, though quiet, was still out there. The memory of its hunger was a cold star on the horizon of their minds.
