The polysilica walls of the Heart-Creation began to vibrate in tones that belonged to no known language. What the inhabitants called the "Resonance Song" was not just sound—it was living memory, an acoustic signature that cut across fabrics, ideologies, and symbiotic barriers.
The Triad, watching from the high symbiotic observatories of Vyralis, felt the pulse of the event in all their collective synapses. The Council of Three, united by channels of shared thought, analyzed in real time every nuance of the vibrations emitted by the Fruit called Vryss.
He was no longer just a Fruit now: he was the epicenter of a phenomenon that even the Firstborn had not recorded in previous ages.
"It resonates with pre-Eternavir patterns," said Aithyx of the Vermilion Order. "This Song… it comes not just from the world, but from that which is above it."
The Carnomorphs, ever attuned to instinct and the truth of the flesh, did not comment. They felt it. They felt the skin of Creation crawl, the living arteries of the Dungeons contract, as if Eternavir's own body were adjusting to hear better.
In the Pulsing Flow chamber, where time was measured by the beats of symbiotic hearts, an old Cultivator muttered, "We are hearing something that has never been said in words, but has always been written in blood.
The Triad understood that this event marked an inevitable bifurcation. Vryss, that Fruit now designated as a local apex, had been traversed by a Song that had echoed since the Genesis of the Lines of Convergence. It was not merely ascending: it was responding.
The Council bowed—not in submission, but in honor. It was rare. It was real. And it was beyond their control.
The Fruit had heard. Now the Triad listened.