Chapter 9: Shadows of Sound
Kael sat at the kitchen table, the morning light slanting through the window, painting the chipped mugs and scattered crumbs in soft gold. The apartment was quiet, his mom already at her shift, leaving behind the faint scent of her lavender hand cream. His guitar leaned against the wall, its strings catching the light, but Kael wasn't playing. He was sketching in his notebook—not music, but a jagged skyline, the city's pulse translated into sharp lines and smudged charcoal. It was the first time he'd drawn in years, and it felt like exhaling.
The SoundSphere showcase loomed, three weeks away, a deadline that felt like a cliff's edge. Lex had sent Shatterpoint to the organizers, and they'd confirmed Kael's slot—a ten-minute set, one of twenty new artists. The news had hit like a spark, igniting both hunger and dread. He'd spent the last few nights at the studio, polishing the track with Lex and Juno, but the more they tweaked, the more Kael felt a strange disconnect. The song was cleaner now, the vocals tighter, but it was losing something—its raw, bleeding heart.
His phone buzzed, snapping him out of his thoughts. A message from Mira: "Coffee? I'm dying of boredom and you're probably overthinking again." Kael smiled, the tension in his chest easing. He texted back, "Meet me at Bean & Beat in 20." He grabbed his jacket, leaving the notebook open, the skyline half-finished.
The city was crisp, the air sharp with autumn's bite. Leaves skittered across the pavement, and the distant rumble of a subway vibrated underfoot. Bean & Beat was a cozy hole-in-the-wall, its windows fogged with steam, the smell of roasted coffee and warm pastries spilling onto the street. Inside, Mira was already at a corner table, her hair tied up in a messy bun, a sketchpad open in front of her. Kael paused, surprised—she hadn't mentioned drawing before.
"Hey, rockstar," she said, looking up with a grin. "You look like you haven't slept in a week."
"Close enough," Kael said, sliding into the chair across from her. He nodded at her sketchpad, where a half-drawn figure stood against a stormy sky. "Didn't know you were into that."
Mira's grin faltered, her fingers tightening on her pencil. "Yeah, well… old habit. Used to do it a lot, back when I thought I'd be some big-shot artist." She laughed, but it was brittle, like glass about to crack. "Then life happened."
Kael leaned forward, curious. "What kind of life?"
She hesitated, tracing the edge of her sketch. "My folks weren't exactly thrilled. Said art was a 'cute hobby' but I needed a real career. So I quit. Picked up singing for a bit, too, but…" She shrugged, her eyes distant. "Same story. Too much pressure, not enough guts."
Kael's chest tightened. He saw himself in her words—the sketchbooks he'd abandoned, the guitar he'd ignored for years. "You ever think about starting again?" he asked, his voice softer than he meant.
Mira met his gaze, her expression raw. "Sometimes. Watching you… it's like seeing what I could've done if I hadn't chickened out." She paused, then added, "Don't get me wrong, I'm proud of you. But it stings, you know?"
Kael nodded, the weight of her honesty settling between them. He wanted to say something—encourage her, maybe—but the words felt too big. Instead, he sipped his coffee, the bitterness grounding him. "You should come to the showcase," he said finally. "Not just to watch. Maybe… bring your sketchpad. Or sing. Whatever."
Mira laughed, this time warmer. "You're relentless. I'll think about it." But her eyes lingered on her sketch, and Kael caught a flicker of hunger there, the same fire he'd felt when he first heard Veyl.
Back home, Kael's phone lit up with a text from Lex: "Check your email. SoundSphere sent the showcase details." Kael opened his laptop, his pulse quickening. The email was formal, listing the venue—a small club called The Ember—and the rules: one original song, live performance, no backing tracks. There was a note about scouts from indie labels attending, looking for "fresh voices." Kael's stomach flipped. This was real—bigger than a SoundSphere post, bigger than the studio.
He scrolled further, and his breath caught. The final line mentioned a "special guest curator" for the showcase: Veyl. No details, just the name, but it was enough to send Kael's mind spiraling. Veyl, the artist who'd cracked open his world with Echoes of Somewhere, would be there. Judging him. Hearing him. The thought was thrilling and terrifying, like standing too close to a flame.
Kael grabbed his guitar, needing to anchor himself. He played Shatterpoint, but the polished version felt wrong—too smooth, like it was trying to please. He stopped, frustrated, and switched to the original demo, the one he'd recorded alone in his room. It was messy, flawed, but it was him. Lex had pushed for cleaner production, saying it'd impress the scouts, but Kael wasn't so sure. What if clean meant fake?
His mom's key turned in the lock, startling him. She stepped inside, her nurse's scrubs wrinkled, her face tired but soft. "You're up late," she said, setting her bag down. Her eyes flicked to the guitar, then to him, a question in her gaze.
"Yeah," Kael said, his voice tight. He hesitated, then added, "I'm playing a show in a few weeks. A showcase. For new artists."
Her eyebrows lifted, surprise softening into something warmer. "A show? Kael, that's…" She paused, searching his face. "That's big. Are you ready?"
He wanted to say yes, to sound confident, but the truth slipped out. "I don't know. I'm trying."
She nodded, crossing to the kitchen to pour a glass of water. "You know, your dad used to play, too. Guitar, like you. He was good, but he gave it up. Said it wasn't practical." Her voice was quiet, tinged with something like regret. "I'm glad you're trying."
Kael's throat tightened. He'd never known his dad played—never thought of him as anything but the voice that dismissed dreams. The revelation shifted something in him, like a chord resolving. "Thanks," he said, barely above a whisper.
After she went to bed, Kael sat in the dark, the city's hum filtering through the window. He thought of Mira's sketches, his mom's words, Veyl's name on the email. The showcase wasn't just a performance—it was a crossroads. He could play it safe, give Lex the polished track, aim to impress. Or he could risk it all, strip Shatterpoint back to its raw core, and let his real voice through, flaws and all.
He opened his notebook, the skyline sketch staring back. Beside it, he wrote a single word: Truth. That was his goal—not just for the showcase, but for every note he'd play from now on. The path ahead was uncertain, but Kael was starting to see it: a journey to find his sound, not as a shadow of Veyl or a product for scouts, but as himself.
To be continued…