Elian sat on the hill until the cold seeped into his bones. The city of Oakhaven sprawled below him, a grid of orange gaslight cutting through the fog. It looked like the circuit board of a machine he did not understand. From this distance, the noise of the streets was muted, reduced to a low hum that matched the vibration in his teeth.
He touched his face. The blood had dried sticky on his chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, staring at the smear in the moonlight.
Dissonance. The vendor's word echoed in his mind. You are a leaky vessel.
He tried to remember why he was afraid. He remembered running. He remembered the alley. He remembered the wall crumbling into dust. But when he reached for the memories of what came before the market, the vendor, the stone it was like grasping for smoke.
And then there was the hole.
He closed his eyes and searched for his mother's face. He knew he had a mother once. He knew women had children. But when he tried to picture the woman who had given him life, there was only grey static, like the sound of a radio tuned between stations.
Panic, cold and sharp, spiked in his chest. He had paid for the magic with a piece of his soul.
"Don't try to force it," a voice said.
Elian scrambled to his feet, slipping on the wet grass. He spun around.
A man stood at the edge of the tree line. He had not been there a moment ago. He wore a long coat that seemed to drink the light around it, shifting from blue to black as he moved. He held no lantern, yet Elian could see him clearly. In his hand, he held a silver tuning fork.
"Who are you?" Elian demanded. His voice sounded thin in the vast night.
"Someone who heard the crash," the man said. He stepped forward. His boots made no sound on the grass. "You broke a wall, boy. That is not a trivial thing. The Silence felt it."
"The Quiet Men," Elian whispered. "The vendor said..."
"The vendor was wise," the man interrupted. "But wisdom does not stop a Hollow from drinking your song." He stopped ten feet away. He was tall, with sharp features and eyes that looked too old for his face. They were the color of storm clouds. "I am Eldrin. I serve the Spire."
Elian had heard the stories. The Spire was a myth, a place where wizards lived above the clouds. "The Spire is a fairy tale."
"As is the wind, until it blows your hat off," Eldrin said. He twirled the tuning fork in his fingers. "You used Resonance without a Conduit. Without training. You cracked the frequency of the brickwork. Do you know what that does to a human throat?"
"It hurt," Elian said.
"It will do more than hurt," Eldrin said gravely. "Next time, it will take your voice. The time after, it will take your mind. You are burning yourself like a candle in a hurricane."
Elian looked down at his hands. They were trembling. "I didn't mean to. They were going to catch me."
"The Silence always catches those who sing alone," Eldrin said. He gestured toward the city. "The orphanage is compromised. The Quiet Men know where you sleep. If you go back, you will not wake up. You will become one of them. A hollow shell waiting to be filled."
Elian felt a tear leak from his eye. He had no home. He had no money. He had no memory of his mother's face. "Where do I go?"
"With me."
Eldrin reached into his coat and pulled out a scroll. It was sealed with wax that glowed with a faint, inner light. "There is a place where the song is not broken. Where you will learn to sing without breaking yourself. But know this: once you take this, the Silence will know your name. There is no going back to the quiet."
Elian looked at the scroll. Then he looked at the city. He thought of the orphanage, of Mrs. Gable's sharp voice, of Thomas's fear, of the plates shattering in the sink. He thought of the grey static where his mother's face should be.
"I'm tired of the quiet," he said.
He reached out and took the scroll. The wax was warm.
Eldrin nodded. "Then welcome to the Spire."
He raised the tuning fork and struck it against his palm.
There was no sound. But the air around them rippled like water. The grass beneath their feet turned to mist. The hill dissolved. Elian gasped as his stomach lurched. The world twisted, colors stretching into lines of light.
When the sensation stopped, they were no longer on the hill.
They stood on a platform of iron and glass, suspended in the air. Below them, the clouds swirled like ocean waves. Above them, the stars were brighter than he had ever seen them, unobscured by smoke.
A train sat on the tracks before them. It was not made of steel, but of polished wood and brass, etched with runes that hummed softly. It had no engine. It floated slightly above the rails.
"The Phantom Rail," Eldrin said. "It runs on resonance. It will take us to the peak of Mount Caelum."
Elian walked to the edge of the platform. The drop was infinite. "Is it safe?"
"Safer than the ground," Eldrin said. He ushered him toward the train car. "Inside. We must leave before the Hollows track the vibration."
Elian stepped into the carriage. It was plush, upholstered in velvet the color of midnight. A lantern burned with a cold, blue flame. He sat on the bench, clutching the scroll.
Eldrin sat opposite him. He took out a small notebook and began to write.
"What happens now?" Elian asked.
"Now, you rest," Eldrin said without looking up. "The journey is long. The Rail passes through the Borderlands. There are things there that hunt sound. You must not speak. You must not sing. You must not even hum."
"What if I sleep?"
"If you dream loudly, you may wake them," Eldrin said. He finally looked at him. "Close your mind, Elian. Think of silence. Think of still water."
Elian nodded. He leaned back against the seat. The train began to move. There was no jerk, no clatter. It simply slid forward, gaining speed until the clouds outside were a blur.
He closed his eyes. He tried to think of still water. But beneath the silence, he could hear it. The train was singing. A low, steady rhythm. Thrum. Thrum. Thrum.
And beneath that, deeper still, he heard the world. It was not silent. It was never silent. It was waiting for him to join the song.
He fell asleep to the sound of the wind rushing over the wings of the train.
He woke when the train slowed.
Eldrin was standing by the window, looking out. "We are approaching the Checkpoint," he said. "Stay behind me."
Elian stood. His legs felt weak. He looked out the window.
They were flying through a canyon of stone, towering peaks jagged as teeth. The air here was thin. The sky was a deep, bruised purple.
"What is this place?"
"The Whispering Pass," Eldrin said. "It is the border of the Veil. The magic is thick here. It plays tricks on the mind."
The train glided into a tunnel carved into the rock. The walls were covered in carvings figures singing, playing instruments, fighting monsters made of shadow.
Suddenly, the train lurched. The lights flickered.
Eldrin drew a weapon from his coat. It was a blade made of glass, translucent and sharp. "Stay down," he hissed.
Elian crouched behind the seat. He listened.
Outside the train, something was scraping against the metal. Screech. Screech. It sounded like nails on chalkboard, amplified a thousand times.
"Hollows," Eldrin said. "They boarded on the outside."
"Can they get in?"
"The doors are warded. But they will try to break the glass."
The scraping stopped. Silence fell. Heavy and suffocating.
Then, a sound came from the corner of the carriage. A whisper.
...Elian...
He froze. It was his name. But the voice was wrong. It sounded like his own voice, but distorted.
...come out... we are quiet... no more pain...
Eldrin spun around. "Do not listen! It is a mimicry!"
The window in front of Elian began to frost over. The ice spread rapidly, forming shapes. Faces. Faceless men.
...give us the song...
Elian clutched the scroll. His heart hammered. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. It was too loud.
"Cover your ears," Eldrin commanded.
He slammed the butt of his glass blade against the floor.
He sang.
It was not a melody. It was a sharp, percussive shout. KRA!
The air in the carriage exploded outward. The frost on the window shattered. The whispering stopped.
Elian fell back onto the seat, gasping. Eldrin stood panting, his hand bleeding where he had held the blade.
"They are gone," he said quietly. "For now."
Elian looked at the window. The ice was melting, but the scratches remained. "They knew my name."
"They know all singers," Eldrin said. He sheathed his blade. "That is why you must learn. To hide your song. To weave it into the background noise."
He sat down again. He looked tired. Older. "We will reach the Spire in an hour. Prepare yourself, Elian. The world you knew is behind us. The world ahead... is dangerous."
Elian looked at his reflection in the dark window. His eyes looked darker than before. His face was paler.
He touched his chest. He could feel the vibration there. The song was still there. It was stronger now.
"I'm ready," he lied.
Eldrin smiled faintly. "No one is ever ready. But we go anyway."
The train surged forward, breaking out of the tunnel and into the open sky.
Ahead, piercing the clouds, stood the Spire. It was a tower of crystal, glowing with an inner light, floating above the peak of the mountain. It was beautiful. It was terrifying.
It was home.
Elian pressed his hand against the glass. The Spire hummed. It was singing a welcome.
And for the first time since the market, since the alley, since the memory loss... he hummed back.
A single, perfect note.
Eldrin heard it. He did not stop him. He simply closed his eyes and listened.
The journey was over. The trial was about to begin.