Scrolldown
 
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Chapter 23

Breaking Point

The night in the wasteland was a desolate expanse of shadows, illuminated by the ghostly light of six moons. Each moon hung at varying heights in the sky, casting an eerie, fractured glow across the barren landscape. The largest of the moons, a pale blue orb, dominated the sky, while smaller, fainter ones circled it in a celestial dance. The ground beneath reflected their cold light, creating an otherworldly panorama of silvery dunes and jagged rocks.
    Jazz and the group pressed forward, their silhouettes stark against the moonlit horizon. They moved with purpose, driven by urgency and shared determination. There was no time to lose; they had to reach the border of the Negative Harmony and find their mentor.
    Jazz halted and began to walk slowly, his eyes scanning the dark horizon. He glanced back at the group, his expression grave. The others instinctively slowed their pace to match his, sensing the shift in his demeanor.
    Keilee, always attuned to the slightest changes, looked back at Jazz, her eyes questioning. It was as if she could read his mind, knowing that something was not right.
    “What’s the matter?” Gabe whispered, his voice barely audible in the still night.
    “We are being followed,” Keilee whispered back, her tone tense and certain.
    Jazz’s expression hardened as he summoned his Echo. In an instant, the piano morphed into a gleaming sword, its blade reflecting the eerie light of the six moons. The others followed his lead without hesitation.
    They formed a tight circle, weapons at the ready, their backs to each other as they scanned the surrounding wasteland. The silence was thick, charged with anticipation, as they waited for their hidden pursuers to reveal themselves.
    One by one, shadowy figures began to emerge from the darkness, surrounding them on all sides. They appeared from behind jagged rocks and out of the dips in the silvery dunes, their movements fluid and deliberate. Each figure carried an Echo, their weapons glinting ominously in the moonlight—swords, axes, and spears at the ready. The figures closed in, their intentions shrouded in the night, as Jazz and his companions prepared for the confrontation ahead.
    “Le’thar alliua ad’hizar!” one Mal’ak shouted, his voice echoing across the wasteland.
    “Sorry, we don’t understand!” Leeland replied, swiftly nocking an arrow and letting it fly. The arrow whistled through the air, but the target swiftly dodged, evading the shot with a fluid motion. In an instant, the Mal’aks began their attack, rushing forward with their Echoes raised, weapons gleaming menacingly in the moonlight.
    Their formation broke as they defended themselves, each member fending off the Mal’aks who closed in relentlessly. The night erupted in a chaotic symphony of flashing lights and the clash of Echoes. Swords clanged against axes, arrows zipped through the air, and nunchucks whirled in swift arcs. Sparks flew as weapons met, illuminating the grim determination on each fighter’s face. The eerie glow of the six moons cast an otherworldly light over the battlefield, turning the desolate wasteland into a scene of frantic combat and desperate survival.
    Jazz parried the thrust of a spear aimed at his chest, his sword moving with precision to deflect the blow. The force of the impact vibrated through his arm, but he held firm, eyes locked on his assailant. With a swift counter, he twisted his blade, catching the spear’s shaft and wrenching it from the Mal’ak’s grasp.
    The Mal’ak stumbled back, momentarily startled by the sudden disarmament. Seizing the opportunity, Jazz moved in close, delivering a swift kick to the Mal’ak’s leg. The assailant fell to the ground with a grunt. Jazz quickly positioned himself on top of his opponent, his sword poised at the Mal’ak’s neck.
    Just as he was about to strike, he hesitated, noticing the Mal’ak’s features—a young woman, her eyes wide with confusion. His moment of compassion cost him; another Mal’ak blindsided him with a powerful kick, sending him sprawling. Jazz rolled with the momentum, using the motion to spring back to his feet, sword at the ready once more.
      Three Mal’aks charged towards Jazz, their weapons raised, intent on overwhelming him. Without hesitation, Jazz sidestepped, bringing his sword around in a fluid, sidelong swipe. As the blade cut through the air, a surge of blue energy rippled from its edge, crackling with force. The energy shot forward, colliding with the charging Mal’aks. They were thrown back, crashing to the ground with a heavy thud, their weapons scattered.
    Jazz stood tall, his breath steady. The attack had been instinctive, an improved version of the move he had first learned in his earlier fight with Kellan. What had once been a mere flicker of energy now erupted with precision and power, a testament to the growth of his skill. He tightened his grip on the sword, ready for whatever came next.
    Another Mal’ak, tall and imposing, strode confidently toward Jazz. His stance was different from the others—calm yet purposeful, his movements deliberate and controlled, as if he were sizing up the battlefield. In each hand, he wielded a short sword, their blades gleaming in the moonlight.
    Jazz reacted instinctively, unleashing the same attack he had used before—a sidelong swipe of his sword that sent a surge of blue energy crashing toward his opponent. To Jazz’s amazement, the Mal’ak effortlessly parried the energy with a swift flick of his sword. The blue wave shattered in the air, scattering like fragmented glass, leaving Jazz momentarily stunned by the Mal’ak’s skill.
    Without missing a beat, the Mal’ak charged forward, his twin blades a blur of motion. Jazz quickly moved to defend himself, his sword clashing against the Mal’ak’s in a flurry of strikes. The sound of metal on metal rang out in the night as Jazz struggled to keep up with the intensity of the onslaught. Each strike from the Mal’ak was precise, and Jazz found himself constantly parrying, his muscles straining under the relentless pressure.
    The clash of swords continued, each strike from the Mal’ak coming faster and harder. Jazz could feel the force behind each blow, the impact reverberating through his arms as he struggled to keep up. His sword met the Mal’ak’s twin blades in rapid succession, each parry more frantic than the last. The Mal’ak’s movements were fluid and precise, leaving Jazz with little room to breathe. His legs burned with the effort to stay grounded, and his arms felt heavy as he fought to keep his guard up.
    Then, in one swift motion, the Mal’ak raised both swords high, preparing to deliver a dual strike. Jazz’s eyes widened just in time. With no choice but to block, he brought his sword up in a desperate defense. The moment their blades collided, a shockwave of force rippled through the air, rattling his teeth and nearly knocking him off balance. Their swords leaned against each other with overwhelming pressure, the sound of grinding metal filling the air.
    As their faces came close, Jazz caught a glimpse of the Mal’ak’s eyes—wide, not with aggression, but with recognition, a flicker of surprise. Before he could react, the Mal’ak leapt backward with incredible speed, distancing himself in an instant. He landed a few paces away, still holding his swords, his gaze fixed on Jazz with a mixture of caution and curiosity.
    “Enn’avy?” he asked, his voice filled with disbelief.
    The Mal’ak shouted in his language, his voice sharp and commanding, and instantly, all the Mal’aks stopped in their tracks. The echo of his shout hung in the air, forcing a sudden stillness over the battlefield.
    Jazz’s gaze snapped to his companions, and his heart clenched. They were dangerously close to making a fatal mistake. It was only the Mal’ak’s shout that stopped the attack—just in time. Jazz knew, without a doubt, that had the Mal’ak not intervened, one of his friends would have been struck down in that moment.
    “Enn’avy?” the Mal’ak repeated, his gaze fixed on Jazz, searching for some kind of recognition in his eyes.
    “I do not understand,” Jazz replied, shaking his head in confusion.
    The Mal’ak looked over at the young female Mal’ak, who had already risen to her feet. She met his gaze for a moment, then slowly shook her head in reply, signaling that there was no clarity to be found from Jazz.
    “Are you, Enn’avy?” the Mal’ak asked, his voice steady, the question carrying an unmistakable weight.
    Jazz glanced quickly at his friends, a realization dawning on him. This Mal’ak wasn’t just any warrior—it was one tied to the ancient Mal’aks, the ones like S’jarre who spoke their language.
    “No, I’m not,” Jazz replied, stepping back as the Mal’ak approached, his sword pointing directly at him.
    With the battle momentarily paused, Jazz had a clearer view of the Mal’aks around him. Their hair was a deep shade of blue, their eyes an intense, piercing blue as well. It was evident that they were from a different Mal’ak community, their features distinct from the ones Jazz and his companions had encountered so far. The differences were striking—this was a different race, a different lineage of Mal’aks.
    “Enn’aly,” he called, his voice cutting through the tense silence.
    The female Mal’ak turned her head, acknowledging him briefly before the male Mal’ak walked toward Jazz, his sword still pointed in his direction. “You,” he said sharply, his gaze locked on Jazz as he stepped closer, “Do not move.”
    Jazz, knowing that the leverage in the battle had slipped away, slowly lowered his sword to the ground, the weight of the situation pressing down on him.
    The female Mal’ak approached him with deliberate steps, her gaze never leaving his face. She stood in front of him, her eyes scanning him intently, as though searching for something beneath his features. She reached up and gently touched Jazz’s face, her fingers brushing his skin lightly, as if inspecting him. Her expression shifted to one of awe, as though she had discovered something extraordinary.
    She smiled at him—an expression full of wonder—and for a brief moment, Jazz felt a strange connection. Without a word, she turned to the Mal’ak leader, speaking quickly in their language, her voice carrying a sense of confusion and amazement.
    “Enn’aly said that there is no mistake,” the Mal’ak leader said to Jazz. “You are Enn’avy.”
    “But clearly, as it shows, you are a human,” the Mal’ak continued, his gaze narrowing as he lowered his sword. “Are you the humans S’jarre told us about? The threats in Eternal Resonance?”
    “We meant no harm to Eternal Resonance,” Jazz replied, his voice steady but filled with a new sense of trust he hadn’t expected to feel towards these Mal’aks. There was something about their presence—something sincere—that made him open up more than he had planned.
    He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts, before continuing. “A few days ago, we entered this realm together with our teacher using the Resonance Key. We just wanted to uncover the mystery of our Echoes and the Negative Harmony. But we soon found out that the key is missing. And our teacher… he went missing too.”
    Jazz’s voice dropped slightly, as if the weight of the situation was finally sinking in. “On Earth, our teacher discovered that his son, who we all thought was long dead, is alive. And he’s actually searching for the Resonance Key with a group we’ve come to call the Rogue Resonants.”
    He exhaled deeply, then met the eyes of the Mal’ak leader. “We don’t know if they managed to follow us here, to Eternal Resonance, but that’s what our group believes. We think our teacher discovered that his son was behind the disappearance of the key. He left us—he went away without telling anyone, not even S’jarre—probably thinking he could still persuade his son, protect him. As for us, we escaped from Skyward Cavern, hoping to catch up with him and help him either persuade or rescue his son.”
    Jazz’s words hung in the air for a moment, the gravity of their situation settling between them.
    “Your teacher taught that if S’jarre learned that his son is a Rogue Resonant,” the Mal’ak leader said, “he will do something bad to his son, right?”
    Jazz nodded in reply, his expression serious.
    “I guess you are right in that conclusion,” the Mal’ak leader said. “And why are you telling us this now?”
    “I honestly don’t know,” Jazz replied with a thoughtful voice. “Maybe we no longer have a choice, or maybe… I suddenly felt trusting you.”
    The Mal’ak leader studied him for a moment with an unreadable expression. “I sense no lie or malice in you,” he said, his tone softening. “My name is Enn’ary. I am a father, and I think I will do just as your teacher did concerning his son.”

 

*  *  *

 

Kellan moved with purpose, his steps calculated as he approached the section they had chosen for the attack. The terrain was rugged, with numerous ridges providing ample cover for their stealthy approach. Kellan activated his invisibility, blending seamlessly with the night as he passed the first guard, who stood on an elevated rock. He moved carefully, knowing that even with his invisibility, any sound or disturbance could give him away.
    He reached the second guard, who seemed more alert. As Kellan neared, the guard’s eyes narrowed, and he turned slightly, sensing something amiss. Kellan froze, his dagger ready to strike if needed. After a tense moment, the guard shook his head and looked the other way, dismissing it as nothing more than a trick of the mind.
    Kellan continued, approaching the third guard, who was sitting comfortably, seemingly relaxed. He crept closer, dagger poised for the attack. Just as he lunged, the guard’s instincts kicked in, and he dodged, causing Kellan’s dagger to graze his shoulder instead of delivering a lethal blow. The guard shouted in the Mal’ak language, the cry echoing through the ridges. Reacting quickly, the guard countered with a powerful kick, forcing Kellan to leap back.
    Still invisible, Kellan circled around, moving swiftly to deliver a lethal strike. The guard fell to the ground, but just as Kellan turned to move towards the next target, he was taken by surprise. A Mal’ak guard, already aware of his presence, stood before him with a pair of nunchucks that morphed from his Echo.
    The guard swung the nunchucks, striking Kellan and knocking him to the ground, breaking his invisibility. Kellan scrambled to his feet, dagger in hand, facing the Mal’ak guard in a tense standoff. The guard moved with precision, his nunchucks a blur as they clashed against Kellan’s dagger.
    Kellan parried the rapid strikes, each blow sending vibrations up his arm. He struggled to keep up with the Mal’ak’s relentless attacks, barely managing to block and dodge. The guard’s confidence showed in his movements, each swing of the nunchucks calculated to exploit any weakness in Kellan’s defense.
    The fight intensified, Kellan’s breathing becoming labored as he tried to find an opening. With a sudden burst of speed, he feinted to the left and then struck to the right, catching the Mal’ak off guard. The guard staggered, giving Kellan a brief moment to regain his footing and press the attack.
    From far behind, Kellan could already tell that the plan was unfolding. He could hear the faint sounds of skirmishes echoing through the ridges, the clash of weapons and muffled cries hinting at the chaos erupting around him. His focus remained on his opponent, but his senses were heightened, aware of the broader battle taking place.
    As he fought the Mal’ak guard, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kenzie moving swiftly, passing him by. Kenzie’s movements were fluid and purposeful, a blur in the periphery of Kellan’s vision. Even as Kellan parried another strike from the Mal’ak’s nunchucks, he knew that Kenzie was executing his part of the plan, advancing deeper.
    Kenzie ran swiftly, his focus razor-sharp, ignoring the battle raging behind him. He had one goal: reaching the border. The sounds of clashing Echoes and cries of combat faded into the background as he neared his destination. Just a few feet away, he reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the cool metal of the Resonance Key, confirming it was still there.
    The border loomed before him, a transparent shield shimmering with dark blue and purple hues, an ethereal barrier separating him from his objective. Kenzie’s heart raced as he pulled the Resonance Key from his pocket, gripping it tightly in his hand. With all his might, he struck the border with the Resonance Key.
    A low humming sound filled the air, vibrating through Kenzie’s bones. Intense energy surged from the point of impact, causing him to stagger back. A small crack appeared where he had struck, slowly spreading across the surface of the barrier. He watched in awe as the crack widened, the energy pulsing and growing more chaotic.
    Suddenly, the barrier exploded with a burst of energy, sending Kenzie flying backward. He landed hard on the ground, dazed and breathless, the force of the blast ringing in his ears.

 

*  *  *

 

The tension between Jazz’s group and the Mal’aks had diffused, the standoff giving way to an uneasy truce. Both sides were brushing dirt from their clothes, their Echoes already dispelled. The atmosphere was now one of cautious cooperation.
    “So, you are heading towards the border of the Negative Harmony to find your teacher?” Enn’ary asked.
    “Yes, we are,” Jazz replied. “His name is Professor Mackenzie.”
    “We will accompany you,” Enn’ary said, glancing toward the distant border. “We are not that far.”
    “Thank you, Enn’ary,” Jazz replied, bowing his head in respect. “My name is Jazz.”
    Pointing at his friends, he said, “And these are my friends—Leeland, Keilee, and Gabe.”
    Enn’ary nodded and spoke in the Mal’ak language, signaling with his hand to his companions. One of the Mal’aks, carrying a bag of supplies, stepped forward and offered them food and water.
    The food was unlike anything Jazz and his friends had seen before—small, round fruits with a vibrant orange hue, and strips of dried meat that had a smoky, savory aroma. They sat on the ground, eating alongside the Mal’aks, sharing a brief moment of peace.
    The young female Mal’ak kept glancing at Jazz, her curiosity evident. Leeland leaned closer to Jazz and whispered, “Jazz, I think that female Mal’ak has a crush on you.”
    Jazz jolted Leeland with his shoulder, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Come on, Leeland, be serious.”
    After they had eaten, Enn’ary spoke again. “By now, I am sure that the border is surrounded by the Oasis Cavern Mal’aks.”
    “And soon, other Mal’ak communities will gather there to ensure the safety of the border,” Enn’ary continued. “I will help you explain to S’jarre and tell him that it is all just a misunderstanding.”
    “Thank you very much,” Jazz and the group answered in unison.
    “Sorry to interrupt, Enn’ary,” Keilee interjected. “Earlier, you were asking if Jazz here is Enn... something?”
    “Enn’avy,” Enn’ary replied.
    “Yes, who is he?” Keilee asked.
    Enn’ary was about to speak when a loud, blasting sound echoed from the direction of the border. They all stood up, their attention fixed on the distant boundary. The border was pulsating, the dark blue and purple hues flickering erratically.
    “What is that?” Jazz murmured, his eyes wide with concern.
    Enn’ary’s face grew serious. “Something has happened at the border. We must go now.”
    The group quickly gathered their belongings, the urgency of the situation pulling them together. The pulsating border loomed ahead, and they set off at a brisk pace, the tension rising once more.

 

*  *  *
    

Kenzie lay still for a moment, struggling to recover from the shock. His ears buzzed with a relentless ringing, and his vision was blurred, colors and shapes swirling in a disorienting haze. Gradually, the ringing in his ears began to fade, and his sight slowly started to clear. Blinking rapidly, he fought to bring the world back into focus, his senses returning little by little as he regained his bearings.
    He stood up, his senses heightened as he turned his gaze to the border of the Eternal Resonance. The once impenetrable barrier now had a gaping hole, jagged and irregular like shattered glass, with cracks spider-webbing out from the edges. The opening wasn’t large, but it was wide enough for a person to pass through.
    Wasting no time, he sprinted forward, his heart pounding in his chest. With a determined leap, he plunged through the breach, crossing into the realm of the Negative Harmony.
    Kenzie stood for a moment, taking in the eerie quietness of the Negative Harmony. The air inside was thick and heavy, carrying a sense of foreboding. Dark blue and purple tones dominated the landscape, casting long shadows that seemed to move on their own. The ground beneath him felt uneven and cold.
    Far ahead, a few stone’s throws away, loomed the great chasm, an immense rift stretching out into the darkness. Far to the right on the chasm’s edge, he noticed a large bridge spanning the gap, connecting it to the other side.
    Kenzie dashed toward the bridge, his footsteps echoing loudly in the stillness. The ancient stone bridge, wide and sturdy, stretched out before him. Massive stone blocks, weathered and covered in a fine layer of dust, made up its structure, lending it an air of timelessness. As he crossed, he glanced down at the chasm below. The edges were jagged and sharp, like the teeth of some ancient beast, and the depths seemed to go on forever, an abyss that swallowed all light and hope. The darkness below was so profound it felt as if it could consume anyone who fell into it, an eternal descent into nothingness.
    Halfway across the bridge, a shout broke through the eerie silence, carrying his name in a voice that reverberated in the still air. “Kenzie!”
    He knew that voice. It was his father’s.
    Kenzie turned sharply, his heart skipping a beat as he saw him. Far behind, barely on the other side of the chasm, stood his father. He was crossing the bridge, his gaze locked on Kenzie.
    He stood frozen in place, the silence stretching out between him and his father as they locked eyes. There was no need for words—their gazes spoke volumes, as if the space between them was filled with a thousand unspoken things.
    Professor Mackenzie continued to walk toward him, his steps slow and deliberate. Despite the exhaustion that was evident in his every movement—there was a warmth in his eyes, a flicker of something almost like relief. His lips, though tired, curved into a faint smile. It was a smile of recognition, of a father seeing his son once more, even in the midst of everything that had transpired.
    “Stay right there, or die!” Kenzie’s voice was cold, his eyes steely as he summoned his Echo. In an instant, the familiar shape of his instrument morphed into a gleaming sword, its edge sharp and unwavering as he pointed it directly at his father.
    Professor Mackenzie stopped in his tracks, his face a mixture of concern and determination. “It’s not too late, son,” he said. “I know your mind is just clouded.”
    “Clouded by what?” Kenzie spat, his grip tightening on the sword. His eyes flickered with intensity. “Clouded by hatred?”
    “Forgive me, Kenzie,” the Professor said. “We can still work this out.”
    “Outside the border, Mal’aks are already gathering,” the Professor continued.
    Kenzie’s lips curled into a cruel smirk. “It’s too late,” Kenzie said, shaking his head. “The Mal’aks outside will all perish once I unite with the Light-Bringer!” The words hung heavy in the air, echoing around them, as Kenzie’s eyes burned with a newfound conviction.
    Kenzie moved forward with swift precision, his sword leading the charge as he closed the distance between them. With a fierce cry, he swung the blade toward his father.
    In an instant, Professor Mackenzie summoned his Echo, the familiar instrument shifting into a sword just as quickly. With speed and skill, he parried Kenzie's strike, the clash of metal ringing out sharply in the eerie silence of the Negative Harmony. The force of the collision sent a brief jolt through both of them, but neither faltered. Their eyes locked, father and son, each feeling the weight of their actions.
    “You are weak, father,” Kenzie taunted, his words sharp as their swords locked. With a sudden, fluid motion, Kenzie spun, his sword slicing through the air in a sidelong slash. Professor Mackenzie leaped back, but the edge of Kenzie’s blade met his leg, cutting deep. The Professor grunted in pain as he landed, his right leg already beginning to bleed, leaving a trail of red on the bridge.
    Professor Mackenzie dispelled his Echo, watching as the sword dissolved into the air. It reformed in a burst of energy, shifting into a blue orb of flame that circled around him, crackling with power. The fiery orbs swirled, casting glows across the chasm and reflecting in his eyes, which were now steely with determination.
    “That’s more like it,” Kenzie said with a grin, his eyes alight with the thrill of the challenge. “Show your strength!”
    Kenzie surged forward, his movements fueled by pure fury. His sword cut through the air, each strike a blur of aggression aimed directly at his father. But as he swung, the blue orbs surrounding Professor Mackenzie flared to life, intercepting each blow with an almost unnatural precision.
    Sparks erupted from the impact, showering the bridge with flashes of light. The sound of metal clashing against the energy shields rang through the air, a sharp, metallic echo that resonated against the eerie silence. With every strike Kenzie made, the blue orbs deflected his attacks, the energy of the collisions sending tremors through the bridge.
    But Kenzie did not relent. His fury only grew, each failed strike driving him to push harder, faster, as he sought a way through the barrier of light that his father had created. 
    As Kenzie attacked relentlessly, there were moments—fleeting, but undeniable—when he sensed his father’s hesitation. His eyes sharpened as he saw the orbs surrounding Professor Mackenzie closing in on him only to stop just short of making contact.
    Kenzie’s blade came within inches of his father’s chest, but it was blocked, and another orb veered toward him. For a split second, the orb seemed to sense a conflict within, abruptly halting mid-air, its glowing blue light flickering with uncertainty. Kenzie’s instincts flared, and in that heartbeat, he realized: his father wasn’t just blocking him. He was holding back.
    Kenzie caught his father’s eyes. They were filled with regret, conflict, as though he were physically restraining himself from attacking. Kenzie’s mind raced. Each time, the hesitation was more pronounced.
    Kenzie stepped back for a moment, his chest heaving as he glared at his father. His eyes burned with fury, his lips twisted in disgust.
    “Are you insulting me?” Kenzie shouted in a hateful tone. 
    Without waiting for an answer, he dashed forward once more, his sword cutting through the air with ferocity. His movements were quicker now, each strike faster and more powerful than before. He put every ounce of his strength into the assault, his sword flashing in blinding arcs, forcing his father to parry and block at every turn. The bridge seemed to tremble with each strike, sparks erupting from their blades as they clashed.
    Professor Mackenzie grunted with effort, his body showing signs of wear. Each time his Echo deflected Kenzie’s onslaught, it drained him more, his strength ebbing away. His movements grew slower, more labored, but he pushed through with sheer determination, barely able to keep up with the relentless barrage.
    In one desperate surge of energy, Professor Mackenzie gritted his teeth and summoned all of his remaining strength. The orbs surrounding shot forward, a powerful wave of force that shoved Kenzie back.
    Kenzie stumbled from the force of the orbs pushing him, his feet slipping on the bridge’s worn surface. As he fell, his sword flew from his grip, bouncing on the stone bridge with a sharp clinking sounds before it rolled and disappeared into the abyss below. At the same moment, Professor Mackenzie fell to one knee, gasping for breath. His face was pale, sweat dripping down his brow as he tried to steady himself. The exertion of using his Echo had drained him, and now, he was on the verge of collapse, struggling to remain upright.
    “Return the Resonance Key, Kenzie,” Professor Mackenzie said with labored breath. “The Mal’aks might still find a way to close the breach.”
    Kenzie stood, summoning his sword with a swift motion, the blade materializing in his hand. He then pulled the golden tuning fork from his pocket and held it out in front of him. “This is what you’re here for?” he sneered.
    With a quick snap of his wrist, he hurled the Resonance Key toward his father. “Get it!” he shouted.
    Professor Mackenzie quickly stood up and caught the Resonance Key, grasping it tightly in his hand. But Kenzie was swift, his sword leading the way as he thrust it toward his father. The blade pierced through his father’s body, and Kenzie saw the other end of the sword emerge from his father’s back.
    Kenzie pulled his sword out, and Professor Mackenzie fell onto his back, his chest heaving with shallow breaths, blood quickly spreading around him. Kenzie’s hands trembled as he stood over his father. He had won, but the triumph felt hollow. His mind swirled with confusion, his eyes wide and fixed on his father.
    Professor Mackenzie lay on the ground gasping for air, but his lips still curved into a faint, bittersweet smile. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but only a rasping whisper escaped. “Son…” His eyes locked with Kenzie’s one last time, the smile faded, and the golden tuning fork slowly slid from his grasp. It hit the stone bridge with a faint clink, the sound sharp and clear as his perfect pitch caught the note—an Eb, his father’s favorite key.

 

*  *  *

 

Enn’ary and Enn’aly led the way, their movements swift and purposeful. Behind them, Jazz and his friends kept pace, their focus unwavering. Bringing up the rear were seven other Mal’aks, their eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of danger.
    They sprinted towards the border of the Negative Harmony, each step driven by an urgent sense of purpose. The ground blurred beneath their feet, and their breaths came in synchronized rhythms, forming a relentless beat of determination.
    None of them faltered, their focus unwavering. The usual signs of fatigue and tiredness seemed absent, as if their bodies were fueled by an unseen energy. Hours passed, but the adrenaline kept their muscles from protesting. Every glance shared between them conveyed a single message: they had to reach the border, no matter the cost.
    As they ran, the pulsations grew more intense, a visual and auditory reminder of the unknown danger that awaited them. But none of them slowed down or looked back. They were united in their mission, propelled by a collective determination that overshadowed any physical limitations.
    Finally, after what felt like an eternity of running, the border loomed ahead, its dark blue and purple hues pulsating with an almost hypnotic rhythm. They skidded to a halt, their eyes fixed on the strange, shifting barrier. The moment of reckoning had arrived.
    As they arrived, they found a group of Mal’aks already gathering at the border. These Mal’aks were distinct from the ones they had encountered earlier. Their hair was dark brown, and their skin was a shade darker, hinting at their origin from another Mal’ak community.
    Jazz and his friends exchanged glances, their breaths still heavy from the run. The Mal’aks with them, led by Enn’ary and Enn’aly, approached the gathering with a mix of caution and determination. The contrast between the two groups was striking, but they were united by the shared goal of understanding and safeguarding the border.
    One of the dark brown-haired Mal’aks approached Enn’ary as they arrived, recognizing him as a leader from another community. The Mal’ak had a serious expression, his eyes scanning the group before focusing on Enn’ary. He began to speak in the Mal’ak language, his tone urgent and respectful, clearly reporting something of importance.
    Enn’ary turned to Jazz’s group and translated, his voice calm but urgent. “There were two humans who entered the border.”
    The Mal’ak then motioned with his hand, signaling for them to follow. Without hesitation, Jazz and the others moved swiftly behind him.
    The Mal’ak led them through the gathered crowd of his kin, weaving through the Mal’aks until they reached a small clearing. There, in the center, three humans knelt on the ground, their hands bound tightly behind their backs. Kellan, Ivy, and Titus—the three Rogue Resonants—were positioned with their heads bowed, but their expressions were anything but defeated. Their eyes were sharp, their lips curved into smiles of quiet victory, despite their captured state. They were still defiant, yet resigned, their presence radiating a quiet confidence as if they had already won.
    Ivy’s eyes locked onto Keilee as she spoke, her voice carrying a mix of triumph and mockery. “You’re too late!”
    Keilee’s body tensed, her fists clenching as she moved toward Ivy, her eyes burning with a desire to confront her. But before she could take another step, Jazz’s hand shot out, grabbing her arm. He pulled her back, shaking his head. “Don’t waste time on her,” he urged in a low voice, his tone firm yet calming. “The Mal’ak is leading us to the border. We need to focus.”
    Keilee hesitated for a moment, frustration flashing across her face, but she finally nodded and followed Jazz’s gaze. The Mal’ak had already started moving again, and they quickly fell in step behind him.
    The group was led through the crowd of Mal’aks, who stepped aside respectfully as they passed. Soon, they arrived at the border, where ten other Mal’aks stood in a line, their expressions unreadable as they kept watch over the area. The border itself loomed before them, a pulsating wall of dark blue and purple energy, crackling with intense power.
    But at the center of the barrier, something was different. There was a  hole.
    “There were two humans who entered the Negative Harmony,” Enn’ary said, turning to face Jazz’s group. His expression was grave. “Do you think one of them is your teacher?”
    Jazz nodded, glancing at his friends, his mind racing. “I think so,” he replied, his voice tight.
    Keilee, who had been scanning the area, spoke up next. “Kenzie is not captured,” she said. “So we can assume that Kenzie and Professor Mackenzie were the two humans who entered the Negative Harmony.”
    Enn’ary’s gaze shifted to her, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. “Kenzie is the son, I assume?” he asked.
    Keilee nodded firmly. “Yes, he is.”
    “We need to follow Professor Mackenzie,” Jazz told Enn’ary, his voice steady despite the urgency of the situation. “Are you going to allow us to enter the Negative Harmony?”
    Enn’ary turned toward the Mal’aks who were guarding the border. Speaking in their tongue, his voice was low and firm, his words laced with authority. The Mal’aks listened intently, their expressions unreadable, but after a moment, they began shaking their heads in disagreement, clearly reluctant to allow any passage.
    The tension was palpable as Enn’ary continued to speak with the guards, his gestures and tone growing more insistent. Jazz watched as the Mal’aks exchanged looks, their disagreement evident in their stances. The weight of the moment seemed to press down on them all, but Enn’ary didn’t back down.
    After several more moments of silent discussion, Enn’ary’s eyes scanned the faces of the Mal’aks one last time. Slowly, their resistance seemed to waver. The leader’s voice softened, and the guards nodded, though reluctantly. It was clear that Enn’ary had convinced them.
    He turned back to Jazz and his friends, his gaze now resolute. “Let’s find your teacher,” he said, his tone firm and decisive.
    One by one, Enn’ary, Enn’aly, the seven other Mal’aks, and Jazz’s group stepped forward, crossing into the realm of the Negative Harmony. As they entered, a quiet, unexpected heaviness seemed to settle over them, like a shift in the very air they breathed. Something in the atmosphere felt off—like a silent pause. As they moved forward, an unspoken stillness hung in their steps, a shared awareness of something subtle yet deeply felt.
    Enn’ary continued to lead the group, his pace steady as he made his way toward the ancient stone bridge. The others followed closely behind, but the Mal’ak leader’s eyes drifted over the landscape, scanning the darkened horizon. For a moment, he seemed distant, as if something in the air had pulled his thoughts far beyond the present. There was a heaviness in his expression, an unspoken recognition. It was as though the place itself carried the weight of memories long past—silent echoes of events that had shaped him, though he did not speak of them.
    As the group continued across the ancient stone bridge, the ground beneath their feet slowly began to rise, the ascent so gradual it barely seemed to shift their footing. The bridge stretched out ahead, dark and long. The faint glow of the realm barely illuminated the stone beneath them, casting shadows that seemed to stretch and waver with every step.
    It wasn’t until they had nearly reached the center of the bridge that something caught their attention. At first, it was little more than a dark shape against the dim expanse, a figure lying still on the stone. The air seemed to grow stiller as they drew closer, the shadows around the form deepening, blurring the edges and making it hard to discern any detail. It was only when they stepped nearer that the outline of the body became unmistakable—a figure sprawled across the cold, weathered stones, unmoving.
    Jazz’s heart tightened, the first flicker of recognition burning through him as he strained to see more clearly. The form seemed too still, too out of place in the otherwise empty space. The dim light failed to reveal much more, leaving the figure shrouded in uncertainty—yet something about the shape made it impossible to ignore.
    Enn’ary came to an abrupt halt, his eyes locked on the figure ahead, his expression shifting in an instant. The weight of the moment settled over him, and for a fleeting second, his gaze softened—his eyelids fluttering closed as though blocking out the sight in front of him. The heavy silence of the bridge seemed to press in closer, amplifying the stillness between them. Without a word, he stepped aside, giving Jazz and the others a clear path forward, allowing them to see what he saw.
    Jazz and the group exchanged uneasy glances, a brief but unspoken understanding passing between them. There was no need to speak. The sight ahead spoke volumes, even if no words were needed.
    Keilee was the first to move, her feet carrying her forward in a sprint, her breath quick and sharp. Gabe followed closely, his pace equally urgent, the tension in his muscles betraying the weight of the scene.
    Leeland, however, took a slower, heavier step. His eyes were fixed ahead, the outline of the figure causing something deep inside him to tighten. His steps were measured, deliberate, though there was an unmistakable tremor in his hands. He barely seemed to notice the others rushing ahead, his focus consumed by the figure before him. His gaze remained fixed on the body, yet something seemed to shift in him—something too painful to articulate.
    Jazz stood motionless, his feet planted firmly on the bridge, his hands clenched into fists so tightly that the edges of his nails bit into his palms. His gaze remained cast downward, not yet ready to face what lay ahead. Then he heard it—the cry of Keilee, raw and heart-wrenching, followed by Gabe’s voice, thick with sorrow. Their cries shattered the heavy silence of the bridge, and Jazz didn’t need to look up to know what they had confirmed.
    Then Jazz heard the sound of rushing footsteps, sharp against the stone, running at full speed. Leeland’s urgency filled the air as he caught up with Keilee and Gabe. But it was the sound of Leeland’s cry—a deep, strangled sob that echoed across the bridge—that finally broke through Jazz’s frozen state.
    Slowly, Jazz’s legs gave way beneath him. His hands, still tightly clenched, fell to the stone as he sank to his knees with a loud, sickening thud. The world around him seemed to fade into a blur as the tears started to fall, his body shuddering with the weight of his grief. The dusty stone floor beneath him was the only solid thing he could feel, yet it couldn’t anchor him from the overwhelming tide of loss that surged through him.

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