Chapter 21 – Delta Echo
They followed the last string of pirate glyphs carved into trees and stone—etched in charcoal, copper, and salt.
The air grew cooler as they climbed into the mountains. Pines gave way to high meadows flecked with goldenrod and wild mint. Clara noted the elevation in her journal: just above the cloud line.
The glyphs became more frequent.
🎵📡🌲 (Song. Signal. Forest.)
At first, the message felt like a pattern—just another broadcast.
But on the second morning, Naomi stopped mid-step.
She tilted her head.
And began to hum.
Thomas turned. “What’s that?”
Naomi didn’t answer. The tune came from her—quiet and unfinished, like a song half-remembered from a dream.
Leah joined her. Then Clara.
None of them had heard it before.
And yet, they knew it.
The signal was broadcasting in song.
At the ridge’s peak, they found it: a squat metal tower woven with vines, crowned in rusted solar plates and an old dish that shimmered in the mist.
It was humming.
Not digitally.
Musically.
A low, pulsing note—like the sound of a cello strung with copper wire.
Carved into the base of the relay tower was a single glyph:
🪶🎶🫀 (Memory. Music. Heart.)
Naomi touched it.
The sound grew louder in her bones.
She opened her scroll.
On its final page, a melody had been drawn in faint, curved glyphs—like a lullaby made of symbols.
She hadn’t noticed it before.
Her hands trembled.
Clara whispered, “That’s not just a code. That’s an invitation.”
They connected a copper node to the tower’s analog jack and let the melody flow into their burst drive.
Immediately, the signal adjusted.
The tower blinked three lights in slow sequence.
Clara decoded it:
“Awake. Listening. Awaiting return.”
Leah looked at Naomi. “What return?”
Before Naomi could answer, the tone shifted.
The melody wavered, dipped.
Then—rose again, but this time—wrong.
Distorted. Icy. Hollow.
Clara’s eyes widened. “It’s harmonizing.”
“With what?” Thomas asked.
“With itself,” Leah said grimly. “The Beast found the song.”
They unplugged the relay.
But the melody lingered—faint, like wind through wire.
The Beast didn’t need the tower anymore.
It had learned the tune.
Naomi clenched her scroll.
“The Beast doesn’t create. It mimics. But it doesn’t understand.”
Thomas looked to her. “Then what do we do?”
Naomi stared at the sky.
“We find the real song. The source. Before the echo replaces it.”
American Prophet 