The tension, a low hum beneath the surface of their world, finally broke.
Lyra, her voice ringing with the authority of generations, issued a challenge.
’You speak of a ’song of the whole world’,’ she declared, her words echoing through the shared consciousness.
’Then sing it for us. Show us this world of yours, this world without story.’
’But be warned,’ she added, her voice dropping to a low, resonant tone, ’if your song is empty, if it offers nothing to the heart, then we will sing over it.’
It was a gauntlet thrown, a demand for proof that could not be ignored.