The path the Warden of the Root showed them was not a path at all. It was a descent into the world's circulatory system. One moment they stood in the luminous silence of the stone forest; the next, the Warden placed a hand of warm granite against the cavern wall, and the solid rock *parted* like a curtain of water, revealing a tunnel of swirling, opalescent light. The air that rushed out sang in a chord of impossible purity.
"THE HEART'S BLOOD ONCE FLOWED HERE," the Warden's voice echoed in their minds, a vibration felt more than heard. "FOLLOW THE SONG. WHERE IT WEAKENS, YOU WILL FIND THE WOUNDS."
Luka stepped through first, Kael limping bravely after him. The moment they crossed the threshold, the world outside ceased to exist. They were no longer in a tunnel, but within a river of light. The walls were not stone, but a rushing, luminous cascade of raw potential, the very substance of magic from which reality was woven. The shard on Luka's chest blazed with joyous recognition, its own hum harmonizing perfectly with the flowing energy. It was drinking, not in a desperate thirst, but in a celebratory toast.
*This is what they tried to cap,* the shard's thought was one of reverent awe. *This is the source.*
For a time, they walked in wonder. The river carried them effortlessly, the light healing the ache in Luka's muscles and soothing the burn on his palm. Even Kael's limp seemed to lessen, the pure energy washing over him like a tonic. They saw visions in the flow: continents adrift on seas of energy, cities of light that pulsed in rhythm with the Crystal's song, a world not of separate things, but of a single, interconnected being.
But the Warden's warning proved true. The song began to change.
The first sign was a discordant note, a faint, jarring flatness in the harmonious flow. The opalescent light ahead began to dim, clouded by a murky, brownish haze. The air grew thick and hard to breathe, carrying a cloying, sweet scent of decay, like rotted honey.
*There,* the shard guided, its tone shifting from awe to clinical focus.
The river of light opened into another cavern, and the sight made Luka's breath catch. This was not a festering wound like the Bleed, nor a beautiful corruption like the Rust Gardens. This was a *sickness*.
The ley line here did not scream; it *wept*. The vibrant energy flow was clogged, congealing into grotesque, amber-like formations that glowed with a sickly internal light. These formations pulsed slowly, and with each pulse, they secreted a viscous, golden sap that dripped with a soft, terrible plink into stagnant pools below. The very air was heavy with a profound, magical melancholy.
"By the Founders…" Kael whispered, his face pale. "What is this?"
*The Weeping Ley,* the shard provided, accessing the integrated knowledge from the Archive. *A wound of grief. When a place of profound joy or creation is violently destroyed, the echo can poison the ley line. It becomes trapped in a feedback loop of its own lost happiness.*
The shard showed Luka a flash of this place as it was: a nursery. Not for children, but for nascent elemental spirits, playful, dancing motes of earth and air that had been nurtured here by the Druids of the Root. The Shattering had not just broken the Crystal; the shockwave of cosmic grief had reverberated through the leys, and this delicate, joyful place had been scoured clean, its children annihilated. The land itself had never stopped mourning.
The congealed amber was crystallized sorrow. The weeping sap was the ley line's tears.
"We have to… clear it?" Kael asked, uncertain. He looked at the massive, pulsing formations with despair. "How?"
The shard presented its analysis. A brute-force purge would be possible but damaging. It would be like cutting out a cancer and taking half the healthy tissue with it. This wound required not a surgeon's knife, but a therapist's compassion.
*It must remember it is allowed to heal,* the shard communicated. *It must be shown that the joy was real, even if it is gone.*
Luka understood. He walked to the edge of the weeping flow, the sticky, sweet air making his eyes water. He knelt, ignoring the golden sap that coated his boots.
"What are you doing?" Kael asked, his voice tight with anxiety.
"Listening," Luka replied.
He placed his hands on the nearest formation of congealed grief. It was warm and vibrated with a low, miserable frequency. He closed his eyes, and with the shard as a bridge, he pushed his consciousness into the memory of the wound.
It was overwhelming. The loss was absolute, a void where laughter had been. It was the grief of a mother for a million children, all gone in an instant.
The shard did not fight the grief. It joined it. It allowed the sorrow to wash over them, and then, gently, it began to weave a new thread into the memory. It did not show the nursery in its prime—that would be a cruel taunt. Instead, it showed the *aftermath*.
It showed a single, resilient shoot of silver moss finding purchase on the scarred rock, decades after the Shattering. It showed a lone, crystal-butterfly, a descendant of the lost spirits, somehow finding its way back and dancing in the empty air. It showed the patient, endless work of the Warden, slowly stabilizing the cavern.
It was a narrative of endurance. The message was simple: *You are still here. The story was not erased, only changed. The love you held was not wasted; it is the reason the memory still hurts, and the reason this place is still sacred.*
For a long moment, nothing happened. The weeping continued, the sap dripping with the same, heartbreaking rhythm.
Then, a single, clear note rang through the cavern, a perfect middle C that cut through the dissonance. It was the shard's tone, pure and defining.
The congealed amber formation under Luka's hands began to soften. It didn't shatter, but slowly, gently, it began to *dissolve*, flowing back into the ley line not as a clog, but as integrated memory. The murky brown haze in the river light began to clear, the opalescent glow returning. The cloying scent of decay was washed away by a clean, electric breeze.
One by one, the weeping formations melted away. The river of light ran faster, brighter, its song regaining its strength. The profound melancholy lifted, replaced by a quiet, solemn peace. The wound was not gone—the scar would remain—but the infection of endless grief had been cleansed.
Luka stood, his own spirit feeling lighter. He had not just used the shard's power; he had collaborated with its purpose on a profound level.
Kael was staring at him, his expression unreadable. "You… you talked to it. And it listened."
"It just needed a reminder that it wasn't alone in its pain," Luka said, his voice soft.
The restored flow of the ley line seemed to gather them up, carrying them forward with renewed purpose. The shard's presence in Luka's mind was a warm, satisfied glow. It had learned a new function: healing. Not just of reality, but of memory, of spirit.
The Warden's guidance pulled them toward a new branch in the flowing light, one that sloped sharply downwards. The song here was different—not weeping, but silent. A void. A place where the music had been completely erased.
The next wound was waiting. And as they approached the absolute silence, Luka knew it would be a different kind of fight. They had healed a sorrow. Now, they had to face a hunger.