Ch313- Evolving Language?

Ch313- Evolving Language?

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The Thunderbird watched him, her gaze sharp and knowing. "You’ve drifted off somewhere else again, haven’t you?" she chided lightly.

Harry realized something strange about the cadence Spark mentioned, but it was like a half-formed thought slipping through his fingers. There was something about the way creatures used their voices to shape magic that tugged at the back of his mind, a connection he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Spark’s mention of intent and sound stuck. Something in Rowena’s runes' structure felt off, almost musical, but he hadn’t given it much thought until now.

As he stood there, listening to Spark’s advice, a vague but nagging idea began forming. He remembered the rhythmic patterns he picked up while training Storm Magic. Each species he spoken to had a unique cadence, a specific lilt or pause that resonated differently with magic. He thought back to the guttural tones of dragons, the high-pitched trills of the Thestrals, even the fluid, almost hypnotic way merfolk communicated underwater. Each had a subtle power of its own, shaping magic in ways he had been studying for three years now.

“Maybe Rowena wasn’t writing in just runes,” he muttered under his breath, realizing the entrance to her hidden language might be in its cadence, not its symbols. “It’s about sound, not just sight.”

Spark tilted her head, watching him closely as he worked through this revelation.

Rowena’s writings had seemed chaotic, an untamed mess of symbols that resisted translation. But what if that was the point? What if they weren’t supposed to be read in a traditional sense at all?

It had been staring him in the face the whole time. Salazar Slytherin’s Parselrunes were a language built from the sounds and structure of Parseltongue itself. But Rowena’s script—Harry had assumed it would work in a similar way, maybe using a creature’s call, like an eagle or a raven. He’d been wrong, and he could feel the answer on the edge of his thoughts now, an almost obvious logic that had seemed too simple. Yet, it wasn’t simple at all.

Rowena hadn’t just taken a creature’s sound and turned it into symbols; she’d taken the rhythm of their language and woven it into an entirely new, growing, shifting form of communication. Each cadence combined in an infinite range of variations.

In simplest terms, every human language operates on about 100 to 150 distinct sounds, or phonemes. But combining those few sounds, humans have created around 7,000 languages—and that’s just in modern history. Rowena’s method took it further. Instead of creating a fixed language, she used the cadences of these phonemes, building combinations that could shift, grow, and morph endlessly. Each cadence—each rhythm, pause, and stress pattern—formed the foundation of a language that wasn’t static but one that evolved, as adaptable as music.

Entering the virtual room, Harry brought up the system’s creature database, summoning thousands of magical beings, each from different languages and backgrounds. Countless creatures—thestrals, firebirds, trolls, and mermaids—each poised to speak, sing, or call in their natural cadences. He had a theory now, and he would see it through.

“Alright,” Harry began, addressing the strange orchestra he’d assembled. “Give it your best. Everyone, in your native tongue—let’s see what we get.” And with that, he raised a hand, signaling them to start.

It was chaos at first. Each creature called out in their raw, unfiltered voices, a jumbled storm of sound echoing through the space. Thestrals shrieked, mermaids hummed in their underwater tones, while firebirds released high-pitched, almost musical calls. As Harry listened, he felt the sounds clashing and merging, shifting with every passing second, making any one rhythm impossible to pick out.

He took a steadying breath and tried to focus. He didn’t need every individual voice; he needed the harmony, the connection between them. His hand swept up, and he began conducting them, pulling the sounds together in a more controlled rhythm. Slowly, he adjusted the pace, weaving different sounds into patterns, piecing the cadences together until it almost resembled a language of its own. The individual noises transformed, their wild tones forming an almost tangible rhythm that pulsed through the air.

The rhythm wasn’t just sound; it carried meaning, almost like the pulse of Rowena’s intentions echoing through the air. The beat wasn’t random. It was structured, relentless, yet strangely natural, like the language was alive and demanded purpose. Harry couldn’t help but feel he was uncovering something immense, something way beyond any magic he’d seen before.

A sudden realization hit him hard. “Holy Fornication!”

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