The penguin beneath Ninebell changed his answer.
Jiang had called once from Pava's coat. This time he shortened the middle syllable and left a longer silence before the last.
From the hollow below came a rougher voice. It kept its own two-part rise, but the final note arrived early, pushing into Jiang's silence as though asking whether he was still there.
Black-green water dripped from Varn's source hook.
It repeated Jiang's call exactly.
Same timing. Same cracked ending. Nothing listening inside it.
Jiang answered the living voice and ignored the copy.
He did not need the System to tell him why. Months among other emperors had taught his body what his old human ears would have missed. A living call carried the work of breath: one syllable roughened, the next recovered, and the pause changed when another bird answered. The water could repeat sound. It could not decide when to listen.
