The Freya scholars thank me and lock the shard away, but its hum keeps moving through my bones. Echo Sense picks up a soft pattern to the north, like footsteps under water.
[SYSTEM]: Unknown Signal, northern sector. Priority high. Recommend reconnaissance before escalation.
Freya offers a small escort, polite and clearly armed. Hermes sends a courier offering logistics and maps. Ares posts muscle. Every Familia wants to be first to call the echo a sign of power.
Oren wants to keep me near his forge. The recruiter wants me to meet a shadow contact for discreet options. My guide sits steady on my shoulder, its glow a calm compass.
I volunteer for the recon because not acting feels worse than noise. Freya assigns two guardians. The archer and the swordsman from my trial join because they owe me after the stalactite stunt.
The road north narrows. Market stalls thin and houses wear stone like armor. Echo Sense lights up faint lines and a soft blue pulse that feels almost like breath.
At dusk we camp near a ruined watchtower. Around the fire, Familias share stories. Freya's guardian tells me of old times when gods walked the streets. Hermes' courier speaks of markets that sold spells like spices. Ares' soldier hums a single march tune.
The night is quiet until the guide tugs and twitches. Its light spikes and Echo Sense shows a thin needle of sound cutting through the earth like a singing spear.
[SYSTEM TIP]: Echo resonance may react to specific frequencies. Attempt controlled signal ping only if team cohesion is high.
I look at the team. They nod. The archer strings an arrow with a hollow tip. I step forward and hum a note, testing the ridge. The ground answers like an old instrument, and a tremor shakes the tower stones.
From the ridge a figure appears, hooded and moving like someone who knows the city lines. It raises a hand and speaks a single word in a language that makes the air taste like metal.
"You do not belong," it says. "Yet you sing with it."
Cliffhanger: The hooded figure draws a sigil and the earth around us rings back with a chorus, as if the city is tuning itself to an old instrument.