Dawn painted the Corven gardens in pale gold, but Elias saw only fractured shadows. The dream clung to him like damp cobwebs – the desperate fumbling with the book, the surge of unstable power, the searing agony in his throat, the terrifying final shudder. He hadn't slept after waking. Instead, he'd fled his stifling chamber, drawn to the deceptive tranquility of the gardens. He leaned against a cool stone bench, the scent of dew-kissed roses failing to mask the phantom taste of ash and burnt ozone lingering in his memory. His hands trembled slightly.

"Couldn't sleep?" The voice, soft yet clear, startled him. Sister Liora stood a few paces away, her silver-grey robes blending seamlessly with the morning mist. Her expression held professional concern, but her eyes, sharp as ever, scanned his face intently. "You look pale, young master. The events of yesterday... they were unsettling."

Elias managed a weak nod. "A restless night," he murmured, avoiding her gaze. He couldn't tell her about the dream, about the horrifyingly vivid replay of his predecessor's fatal mistake. "Just... troubled thoughts."

Liora moved closer, her steps silent on the damp grass. "Understandable. The 'fault' was a significant disruption. Such events can unsettle the spirit." She paused, her gaze lingering on his drawn features. "Perhaps some fresh air will help clear your mind? May I walk with you?"

It wasn't really a question. Elias nodded again, falling into step beside her as they wandered deeper into the garden, away from the nascent Festival preparations. The silence stretched, filled only by the chirping of waking birds and the crunch of gravel underfoot. Elias felt her scrutiny like a physical weight.

"You seemed... particularly affected by the fractured mirror," Liora ventured gently, steering the conversation with practiced ease. "More so than simple shock would warrant. Did it remind you of something?"

Elias hesitated. It reminded me of how I died. The thought was stark, terrifying. He shook his head. "It felt... wrong. Alive, almost. Resisting." He glanced at her, searching for disbelief, but found only thoughtful consideration.

"It felt that way because the energies were profoundly unbalanced," Liora explained. She stopped near a small, ornamental fountain, its gentle burble providing a soothing counterpoint. "Harmonization isn't merely about arranging objects pleasingly, Elias. It's about attuning oneself to the subtle currents of Essence that flow through all things – the Goddess's divine energy. And the key to that attunement... is Khevra."

She saw the genuine confusion in his eyes. "Khevra?" he echoed, the unfamiliar word feeling strange on his tongue.

"Yes. The Language of Weaving. The sacred tongue passed down through generations of temple artisans and Harmonizers." Liora's voice took on a reverent tone. "It's not a language for everyday conversation. Its words are vessels, meticulously crafted formulas designed to resonate with specific aspects of Essence. Think of it... like musical notes, but for the fabric of reality itself."

Elias listened, fascinated despite his unease. "Formulas?"

"Resonances," Liora clarified. "A Resonance is a complete Harmonization act – a precise combination of Khevra incantation, specific gestures, and sometimes a physical focus, like a specially prepared mirror or crystal. The verbal component – the Khevra phrase – is the invocation. It calls forth and shapes the Essence. The gestures direct it. The focus amplifies and refines it."

She traced a simple geometric pattern in the air with her finger. "Imagine wanting to strengthen a structure, like that archway yesterday. A skilled Harmonizer would utter a specific Khevra phrase – perhaps something like 'Khourna stas khantara' – while performing gestures that mimic reinforcement, perhaps touching the stone with a quartz focus. The Khevra phrase acts as a key, unlocking the desired flow of Essence and guiding it into the structure."

"It sounds... complex," Elias managed, his mind racing. The dream surged back – the younger Elias, lips moving, uttering sounds that were wrong, distorted. Khevra. He'd been trying to speak Khevra. Badly.

"Exceedingly," Liora agreed gravely. "Each syllable, each inflection, must be perfect. Khevra is not forgiving. A mispronunciation, a hesitation, an incorrect rhythm..." She met his eyes directly, her gaze intense. "It doesn't just fail. It can twist the energy. Cause instability. Backlash. Severe physical or mental harm. Disharmony, Elias. That's why such training is rigorous and takes years under strict supervision. An 'unbalanced resonance' isn't just ineffective; it's dangerous."

Elias felt a chill that had nothing to do with the morning air. Unbalanced resonance. The words echoed the searing pain in his dream-throat, the violent shudder that had preceded the fever. He looked away, unable to hold her gaze, his fingers unconsciously rubbing his neck. "I... I was never taught any of this," he whispered, the lie tasting bitter. The original Elias had been taught, or at least, he'd tried to teach himself. With fatal consequences.

Liora watched him intently, her professional mask momentarily slipping. She saw the tremor in his hands, the haunted look in his eyes – eyes of a deep, warm amber. The exact shade she remembered from a dusty pit, from gentle hands easing her pain, from a voice soft with reassurance. The memory washed over her with unexpected force – a wave of profound calm and safety she hadn't felt since that day. It was disorienting, illogical. This was Elias Corven, a boy she was duty-bound to monitor. Yet, looking into those eyes...

She abruptly turned her head, breaking the connection, her cheeks warming slightly. Unprofessional. Dangerous. She chided herself fiercely. This was the Goddess's work. Sentiment, especially sentiment sparked by a resemblance she couldn't explain, had no place.

"The Festival preparations require my attention," she said, her voice regaining its formal cadence, though a slight tremor betrayed her inner turmoil. "Please, young master, try to rest. The Goddess values a clear mind above all else."

She offered a curt nod, then turned and walked briskly back towards the house, her robes swirling around her. Elias watched her go, the sense of profound unease settling deeper within him. He was adrift in a world of mirrors and hidden languages, haunted by the ghost of a boy who'd played with fire and burned. And the only person who seemed to offer a flicker of understanding, however guarded, was now retreating behind walls of duty and dogma, leaving him alone with the terrifying echoes of a past he hadn't lived and a power he couldn't control.