Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 277

Chapter 277: Seal (17)
It was said that once the world had heard the Refrain, it would never be the same again. And truly, nothing was.

In the weeks that followed the Singing, the lands stirred in ways both wondrous and humbling. Forests that had lain dormant for centuries bloomed anew. Rivers began to carry not only water but resonance—soft vibrations along their current that could be felt by those willing to listen. Entire mountain ranges sang in low, imperceptible tones during twilight, as if echoing the long-missed harmonies of old. The air itself tasted different, richer, infused with sound and spirit.

Eyla stood beneath the reborn Arch of Harmonies, her fingertips grazing the smooth surface of the stone etched with runes that now glowed faintly with each passing breeze. Beside her, Solmere stretched his crystalline wings toward the sky and let out a low, musical hum that stirred birds from their nests.

People had come to call this new era The Crescendo.

Not because it was loud or chaotic, but because it was rising—growing—becoming something greater than all who lived before it. And in that swell of new life, responsibility, and unity, there was the echo of choice: what would the world do with this harmony now returned to them?

Lys, who had once been a wanderer afraid of permanence, now taught the Resonant Arts in the Temple of Echoes. Children from every land gathered at her feet, their laughter forming spontaneous chords of joy. Kael, steadfast and steady, had taken up the mantle of Bridgekeeper—maintaining the balance between realms and ensuring that the tower, though silent now, remained a place of learning rather than isolation.

Kelen became a living archive. With his perfect memory and insatiable curiosity, he wandered from village to city, gathering new verses, documenting fresh melodies, and teaching people how to listen not just to songs, but to each other. It was through him that the scattered fragments of ancient songs began to knit themselves into a new, evolving tapestry of sound.

As for Serra Vane… she was neither queen nor villain now. She called herself Listener, and she spent her days walking the edges of cities, forests, and towns. Sometimes she sat with grieving mothers and sang lullabies they’d forgotten. Other times, she simply listened, her once-cracked heart now mended by the voices of those she had once tried to silence.

Eyla’s role remained less defined, yet deeply essential. Some called her the Echo Queen, others the Voice of Return, but she shied away from titles. What mattered most to her was preserving what had been reborn, not through control or structure, but through connection.

One day, while walking through a field of whisper-grass with Crescendo beside her, she heard a faint rhythm that did not come from the land.

She paused. “Did you hear that?”

Crescendo tilted his head, the gems embedded in his brow glowing softly. “It is not of this place.”

“No… it’s a call.”

Eyla knelt, placing her ear to the earth. The beat was faint but intentional—like a tapping on the walls of the world. Someone—somewhere—was singing.

“Is it coming from another realm?” she asked.

Crescendo didn’t answer immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, cautious. “It is… a Remnant. A people forgotten. Their song has returned.”

Eyla stood slowly. “Then we have to answer.”

She gathered the others—Kael, Lys, Kelen, even Serra—and explained what she’d heard. The Remnants, long believed to have vanished during the Great Severing, had found a way to reach through the silence, their voices carried across fracture lines and memories alike.

Lys frowned thoughtfully. “If they’re singing now, then either they survived all this time… or the Refrain was powerful enough to awaken what lay dormant, even in them.”

Kelen’s eyes lit up. “We have to find the origin point. Map the tonal direction, chart the harmonic pulses. We could triangulate their location if we follow the resonance patterns.”

“It’s dangerous,” Kael said. “The lands beyond the Severing haven’t healed. There are still places where silence reigns.”

Serra spoke then, gently. “That’s why we must go. Because if there are songs trapped in silence, then we owe it to them—to all of us—to bring them back.”

They prepared for weeks, crafting new instruments built to survive the rough terrain and echo-choked lands. They consulted the Elder Chimes, the living bells of the Skygroves, who chimed in agreement: the world was still incomplete. A journey was needed—not just to recover the Remnants, but to test whether harmony could bridge the greatest divide.

When the day came to depart, thousands gathered to send them off. They stood on the edge of the Harmon Rift—the great scar between realms—and began to hum the ancient opening verse.

One by one, voices joined in. A bridge of sound formed beneath their feet—not stone, not wood, but resonance made manifest. It shimmered with each note, bending only when someone’s pitch wavered.

And then they stepped forward.

The journey was unlike anything they had faced before. The lands beyond the Rift were not simply forgotten—they were wounded. Trees whispered in tongues no longer spoken. Skies were filled with birds whose wings made no sound. Even the stars above seemed dimmer, as if unsure whether they too could trust in this rebirth.

But the farther they traveled, the more certain the rhythm became. And then, one day, they found them.

The Remnants were not what they expected.

They were not broken or wild. They were harmonic. Balanced. They had built a society that sang in silent harmony—melodies without voice, rhythms without percussion. They communicated through movement, gesture, and memory-chords that Eyla recognized as echoes of Mira’s earliest compositions.

And they welcomed the travelers with open arms—not in silence, but in song.

It was a reunion of worlds.

New verses were written that day—verses of return, of healing, of bridges crossed without fear. The Remnants taught them how to listen beyond sound. How to feel resonance in breath, in light, in presence. In return, the travelers brought them the gift of song—of open voice, of laughter carried on wind, of freedom to weep.

When Eyla stood before the Council of Remnants, she sang a single line—no words, only feeling. They replied not with an echo, but with harmony. And thus, a new Refrain was born.

The world, now whole, began to hum once more—not as it had before, but better. More complete. With every voice heard. Every silence understood.