The world unfolded before the triad not as a landscape, but as a symphony of interlocking vibrations. Their journey across the Frozen Sea of Memory—now a vibrant, liquid testament to their previous victory—was less a traversal of space and more a navigation of song. The path of resonant light that solidified under their feet was an extension of their will, a conscious, gentle persuasion of the water's own music to support them. They did not walk so much as they glided, a single entity moving with the serene purpose of a tide.