The Heartmenders: A Fantasy Epic Poem

5. Echoes in the Conduits -

The heart's essence, a song of cosmic scale,
played not for ears, but for the soul's inner sight.
It thrummed through the chamber, a celestial ballet,
revealing hidden truths, in a haunting, ancient way.

Ren, amidst conduits, felt a pull, a tug,
not of the physical, but a memory's sudden drug.
Her workshop materialized, not the sterile, metal space,
but a cluttered haven, from a younger, hungrier chase.

Gears she'd sweated over, fueled by a yearning to mend,
a device for healing, a future to transcend.
But ambition had blinded, success was the only goal,
and the prototype faltered, consumed by a power it couldn't control.

A surge, a spark, a flash of light, then only smoke and ash,
a lesson learned in failure, a wound that left a lasting gash.
Her own miscalculation, the price of her youthful pride,
a fear of repeating, a truth she'd tried to hide.

Now, as the heart's energy pulsed, a cosmic, gentle hand,
that workshop returned, rebuilt, a chance to understand.
But this time, she wasn't the builder, the one with a plan to impose,
she watched, a witness, as the device, on its own, arose.

It sensed her trembling hand, the doubt in her heart's core,
and adjusted, adapted, a path it hadn't explored before.
Not with force, not with logic, but a hum, a knowing sound,
and Ren saw, with a clarity newfound,

she wasn't just an engineer, a mind for gears and might,
but a conduit, a listener, bathed in the heart's compassionate light.
Empathy, the missing piece, the element she'd lacked,
bloomed in the heart's echo, fear receding, shadows cracked.

Across the chamber, Flicker the hare, his fur bristling white,
saw not a workshop, but a desert bathed in a terrifying light.
Not the sun's familiar blaze, but a void, consuming, bleak,
the future he'd glimpsed before, now a reality he couldn't unseek.

The heart's sorrow echoed his own, a premonition of despair,
a world unraveling, a burden too much to bear.
He'd run, he'd hidden, seeking to escape the visions' hold,
but the heart's truth whispered, "The future unfolds

not in isolation, but in connection, in a shared, desperate plea.
Your visions, little one, are not just yours to see,
but a call to action, a warning to impart,
a thread in the story, woven by the universe's heart."

Flicker trembled, small and afraid, yet a flicker of hope took root,
for even in the heart's sorrow, a love whispered, "There is a route
not just to endure, but to mend, to heal, to find a way,
together, little one, together, we'll face a brighter day."

Beside him, Keen, the timber wolf, whined softly, a mournful sound,
sensing Flicker's fear, a kinship profound.
No words passed between them, no need for language's art,
but a shared understanding, a love felt in the heart.

Keen, guided by instinct, by a loyalty beyond compare,
nudged Flicker gently, a silent promise to share
the burden of knowing, the weight of the visions' hold,
a wolf's steadfast presence, a comfort in the cold.

For Keen, too, felt the heart's sorrow, a deep, resonating ache,
but unlike Flicker's fear, a fierce protectiveness did awake.
He'd guard the hare, shield him from the darkness, be a steady guide,
a testament to the love that flows, when logic is set aside.