The Arena of the Sun-King had been transformed overnight. The solid marble floor was now covered in a three-inch layer of "Living Water," piped in from the reservoirs of the Behemoth's lungs. The liquid didn't splash; it vibrated, acting as a massive acoustic conductor for the second stage of the Summit of Stars: The Symphony of the Siren.
"In this round," Instructor Grog bellowed, his voice amplified by Prana-horns, "you are not merely feeding the body. You are feeding the rhythm. The Siren-Song Enclave of the East believes that flavor is a frequency. To defeat them, you must match their resonance or be drowned out by it!"
Konja stood at his station, his boots submerged in the cool, humming water. Beside him, Mina was meticulously organizing a rack of silver tuning forks, while Renzo and Tali kept their eyes on the Eastern Enclave's platform.
The Enclave students, led by a girl named Lyra, were dressed in gowns of woven sea-glass. Their Crest-Mons were Echo-Jellyfish, translucent creatures that floated in the air, pulsing with a rhythmic, ethereal light.
"The Munka boy," Lyra said, her voice sounding like two stones rubbing together underwater. "You survived the deep, but can you survive the song? The Salt of the Ancients is a heavy ingredient. It has no melody. It is only the silence of the grave."
"Silence is the foundation of every song, Lyra," Konja replied, his hand resting on Zale's head. The indigo fox's fur was damp, the static electricity creating small, dancing bubbles in the water around his paws.
The Cooking of the Chord
The round began with a literal blast of sound. Lyra's team didn't use knives. They used high-frequency vocalizations, their voices hitting notes that shattered the crystalline shells of Sonic-Oysters. The meat inside didn't fall; it vibrated into the air, suspended by the sheer force of the soundwaves.
"They're using Acoustic-Levitation to cook!" Mina shouted over the rising hum. "The friction of the sound is heating the protein!"
Konja looked at his own ingredients: Resonance-Grain and Vocal-Kelp. He knew he couldn't out-sing a Siren. He had to use the Umami of the Earth to ground their melody.
"Zale, give me a low-frequency pulse," Konja commanded. "Renzo, I need you to use your blades to 'rhythm-cut' the grain. Every strike must be a beat."
Renzo blurred into motion. Clang-shring-shring. His Leaf-Blight's scythes hit the Resonance-Grain at exactly sixty beats per minute. The sound was deep, earthy, and percussive.
Konja reached for the Salt of the Ancients. He didn't crush it. He placed the crystal in the center of a shallow brass bowl filled with water. As Renzo's rhythm hit the bowl, the Salt began to pulse. It didn't make a sound; it created a Vibration-Sink.
"Look!" Tali pointed.
The high-pitched, frantic melody of the Siren-Song Enclave was being drawn toward Konja's station. The Salt was absorbing the chaotic frequencies, filtering them, and releasing them as a steady, stabilizing hum.
The Harvesting Mechanism Revealed
While the crowd was mesmerized by the musical battle, Mina's eyes were not on the food. She was looking at the Aurelian Pillars that encircled the arena. Each pillar was etched with Regency runes, but as the music reached its peak, the runes began to glow with a sickly, parasitic green light.
"Konja," Mina whispered through their mental link. "Cassian was right. Look at the pillars. They aren't just amplifying the sound; they're harvesting the 'Spirit-Residue' from the cooking."
Konja glanced up. He saw it—the faint, wispy trails of Prana being stripped from the contestants' dishes and funneled into the pillars. The energy was then being beamed directly toward the High Regency Box, where Aris Vane and the Council sat.
Aris Vane was leaning back, his eyes closed, his skin beginning to glow with a borrowed vitality. He looked younger, more predatory with every note played.
"They're literally eating our effort," Tali hissed, her tonfas vibrating with anger.
"If we stop, we lose. If we continue, we feed them," Renzo added.
Konja felt the Third Gate—the Gate of Bitter Endurance—creaking. He looked at the Salt of the Ancients. The crystal was turning from blue to a dark, angry violet. It was reaching its capacity for absorption.
"We don't stop," Konja said, his silver eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "We give them more than they can swallow."
The Overload: The Grave-Song of the Deep
Konja changed his stance. He moved from the Low-Tiger to the Dragon-Hearth stance. He grabbed the Heavens-Seared Cleaver-Blade and plunged it into the water at his feet.
"Fifth Pillar: The Absolute Zero of Umami!"
Konja didn't just cook the grain. He channeled the entire weight of the Trenches of Terror—the crushing pressure he had felt in Aquaria—into the arena's floor.
The water in the stadium turned from humming turquoise to a dead, silent black. The Siren-Song Enclave's jellyfish suddenly dropped to the floor, their songs silenced by the overwhelming "Gravity" of Konja's Prana.
"What is this?" Lyra gasped, her voice cracking. "The rhythm... it's gone!"
"It's not gone," Konja said, his voice echoing like a mountain cracking. "It's just resting."
He unleashed the Salt of the Ancients. The crystal didn't break, but it released a "Sonic-Flash." A wave of pure, ancient silence rippled outward.
When the wave hit the Aurelian Pillars, the parasitic green runes flickered and died. The Regency harvesting mechanism couldn't handle the "Zero-Frequency." The pillars groaned, the brass surface cracking as the backflow of energy surged toward the High Council box.
Aris Vane lurched forward, clutching his chest as the stolen vitality was violently ripped away.
The Final Presentation: The Silent Soup
Konja presented his dish: The Still-Water Consommé. It was a clear liquid that looked like glass. There was no steam, no smell, and no sound.
The judges, their hands trembling, took a spoonful.
As the liquid hit their tongues, they didn't taste salt or grain. They tasted the memory of the ocean before there was life. They tasted the absolute peace of the deep. It was a "miracle" of flavor, but it was a cold one—one that didn't feed the Regency's hunger for power, but instead filled them with a heavy, unavoidable sense of their own mortality.
"Winner... the Obsidian Team," Lord Malchor announced, his voice holding a hint of grim satisfaction.
As Konja walked back to the tunnel, he passed Cassian Valere, who was standing in the shadows.
"You broke the pillars," Cassian whispered. "They're furious. Aris Vane just ordered the Sentinels of the Shroud to be deployed for the third round."
"Let them come," Konja said, wiping the sweat—and a trace of salt—from his brow. "I'm tired of being the ingredient, Cassian. In the next round, I'm the Chef, and the High Council is on the menu."
The sun set over Pangaea, but the city didn't sleep. The hum of the Behemoth was turning into a groan. The titan was waking, and the recipe for the revolution was finally starting to boil.