Arin pressed her palms against the cold stone wall of Wraithpeak's forgotten archive, eyes tracing the faint etchings no one else had bothered to read in decades. The symbols shimmered under her fingertips, almost warm, and her breath caught—this was it, the crystal language everyone said was impossible to decode. She dragged a metal bowl outside, then another, arranging them in a line until water trickled between them in careful measure. The bowls hummed as the water moved, each tone different, and she held a crystal shard above them—watching it glow brighter near certain frequencies, dimmer near others, like it was answering a question she hadn't known how to ask.