Prologue
THE SEEKING
The first time Myrkazics heard a soul sing, he was six years old.
He sat cross-legged on the floor of a healing sanctuary, swinging his legs beneath a wooden chair far too large for him. Sunlight poured through emerald crystal windows, painting the stone walls in shifting shades of green.
Around him, healers moved quietly between patients.
Some were injured.
Some were sick.
Some simply carried wounds no magic could mend.
Myrkazics had spent most of his childhood in places like this.
While other children chased one another through market squares, he followed healers.
While others played games, he sat beside the elderly and listened to their stories.
He liked listening.
People revealed fascinating things when they thought nobody was paying attention.
Across the room, a young boy sat beside one of the sanctuary beds.
No older than eight.
His face was dry.
His posture calm.
To anyone else, he appeared perfectly composed.
Myrkazics frowned.
Something felt wrong.
No.
Not felt.
Sounded.
The boy’s soul hummed beneath the surface like a violin string pulled too tightly.
Fear.
Grief.
Loneliness.
The emotions tangled together into sharp, discordant notes.
Myrkazics slid from his chair.
No one noticed him crossing the room.
The adults remained focused on the woman sleeping in the bed.
The boy’s mother.
Myrkazics stopped beside him.
The music trembled.
The dissonance grew louder.
The boy didn’t look up.
“She’s going to be okay.”
The words escaped before Myrkazics could stop them.
The boy blinked.
Slowly, he turned.
“How do you know?”
Myrkazics hesitated.
Because your soul keeps asking the same question.
Because you’re terrified.
Because I can hear it.
Instead, he shrugged.
“I just do.”
The boy stared at him for several moments.
Then, unexpectedly, some of the tension eased.
The dissonance softened.
Not gone.
Just quieter.
A tiny shift.
But enough.
Myrkazics smiled.
The boy managed one in return.
Across the room, a healer paused.
Watching.
Observing.
Later that evening, she would ask his mother a very strange question.
Has he started hearing them yet?
The answer would change everything.
Four years later, Myrkazics stood atop one of Ajnara’s highest observation bridges.
The wind tugged at his dark robes.
Far below, crystal towers gleamed beneath the morning sun.
Libraries stretched toward the horizon.
Observatories crowned distant peaks.
The Realm of Sight.
The Realm of Prophecy.
The Realm of Knowledge.
Home.
For a few more hours.
His satchel rested against his shoulder.
Everything he owned fit inside.
A handful of books.
Travel supplies.
A journal.
Nothing more.
That was the way of the Seeking.
At ten years old, every child left home.
Not forever.
But long enough.
Long enough to find the mentors who would shape the rest of their lives.
Long enough to become something greater than what they had been.
Myrkazics wasn’t frightened.
He was excited.
The entire world waited beyond Ajnara’s borders.
And he intended to learn everything it had to offer.
Footsteps approached.
He smiled before turning.
His parents.
The only two people who knew every version of him.
The curious child.
The stubborn student.
The boy who read history texts for fun.
His mother stopped beside him.
His father took position on his other side.
For a while, none of them spoke.
They simply watched the sunrise.
“You’ve already chosen.”
His father’s voice carried certainty.
Myrkazics nodded.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Sylvaris.”
Neither seemed surprised.
Of course they weren’t.
The decision had been inevitable.
His mother leaned against the railing.
“And why Sylvaris?”
Myrkazics laughed.
She already knew.
They both did.
But he answered anyway.
“Because I need a healer.”
His mother smiled.
“And?”
“A Knowledge Keeper.”
His father nodded approvingly.
“And?”
Myrkazics looked toward the distant forests beyond Ajnara’s borders.
Toward the realm waiting for him.
“Because I want to understand Pulsecraft.”
That answer carried more weight.
Pulsecraft wasn’t simply healing.
It wasn’t simply magic.
It was listening.
Understanding.
Every soul carried a rhythm.
Every life carried a song.
Most people never heard it.
Myrkazics always had.
Even before he knew what it was.
Even before he had words for it.
His father folded his arms.
“You know there are easier paths.”
“Probably.”
“There are safer ones.”
“Definitely.”
His mother laughed softly.
His father sighed.
“At least you’re honest.”
Myrkazics grinned.
The journey would take several days.
The realization finally settled over him.
He was leaving.
Truly leaving.
For the first time, uncertainty crept into his chest.
His mother noticed immediately.
Of course she did.
She always noticed.
She reached up and adjusted the collar of his traveling cloak.
A simple gesture.
One she’d done hundreds of times before.
Suddenly it felt different.
“You’ll write.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I’ll write.”
“You’ll visit.”
“I’ll visit.”
“You’ll eat properly.”
Myrkazics groaned.
His father laughed.
His mother remained completely serious.
“That wasn’t a joke.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
The silence that followed felt heavier.
Because now they were all thinking the same thing.
Ten years.
The Seeking lasted ten years.
The next time he returned permanently, he would be twenty.
A master.
An adult.
Not the boy standing here now.
His father placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Remember this.”
Myrkazics looked up.
“Knowledge without compassion becomes arrogance.”
His mother nodded.
“Compassion without wisdom becomes recklessness.”
The words settled deep.
As if they had been waiting years to be spoken.
“What if I fail?”
The question slipped out before he could stop it.
His parents exchanged a look.
Not surprised.
Not disappointed.
Only understanding.
His father smiled first.
Then his mother.
“You will.”
Myrkazics blinked.
“What?”
“You’ll fail.”
His mother squeezed his shoulder.
“Many times.”
His father nodded.
“The important question isn’t whether you’ll fail.”
“It’s what you’ll learn when you do.”
For a long moment, none of them spoke.
The morning sun climbed higher.
The road stretched endlessly before him.
Sylvaris waited somewhere beyond the horizon.
A realm of healing.
A realm of harmony.
A realm where his future waited.
Though he could not possibly know it yet, that future contained far more than mastery.
Far more than Pulsecraft.
Far more than healing.
Somewhere in the years ahead, he would meet a violet-eyed girl whose soul sounded unlike anything he had ever encountered.
A melody of harmony and dissonance.
A ballad tangled with chaos.
A song he would spend the rest of his life trying to understand.
And willingly devote that life to protecting.
Adjusting his satchel, Myrkazics stepped onto the road.
Toward Sylvaris.
Toward mastery.
Toward destiny.
Toward the first note of a song that had not yet begun.
