Chapter 11: Echoes in the Dark
Kael walked the city's edges as dusk settled, the skyline a jagged silhouette against a bruised purple sky. The air was sharp, carrying the metallic tang of impending rain and the faint spice of a nearby falafel cart. His guitar case bounced against his back, the new leather strap tucked inside, a quiet promise of the showcase now just ten days away. The streets hummed with life—couples laughing, a cyclist's bell ringing, a rapper freestyling on a corner to a small crowd. Kael felt the city's rhythm in his bones, but tonight, it wasn't enough to quiet the storm in his head.
He'd spent the day at PulseVibe, running through Shatterpoint with Lex and Juno. The track was tighter now, the production crisp, but every tweak felt like sanding down a piece of himself. Lex had pushed for a radio-friendly bridge, saying it'd "hook the scouts." Juno, surprisingly, had pushed back, his voice low but firm: "Let the kid breathe, Lex. It's his song." The tension between them had been palpable, a crack in the studio's usual flow. Kael had stayed quiet, torn between gratitude for Juno's defense and fear that Lex was right. What if raw wasn't enough?
His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him from the spiral. A text from Mira: "Check SoundSphere. Veyl dropped something new." Kael's heart lurched. He ducked into an alley, the walls graffitied with swirling murals, and opened the app. There it was: Veyl's second track, "Fading Static," uploaded an hour ago. The cover art was another grainy image—a lone streetlight in fog. He plugged in his earphones, the city fading as the first note hit.
It was different from Echoes of Somewhere—slower, heavier, with a pulsing bassline and fragmented piano chords that felt like footsteps in an empty room. Veyl's voice, still androgynous and haunting, wove through lyrics that cut deep: "I'm shouting through the noise, but no one's there / A ghost in wires, breathing air…" Kael's breath caught, his skin prickling. The song was a mirror, reflecting his own fear of disappearing into the showcase's spotlight. When it ended, he played it again, leaning against the alley wall, the cold brick grounding him.
The comments were already flooding in, fans dissecting Veyl's mystery, some claiming the track was a callout to new artists like Kael. One comment stood out: "Veyl's curating the showcase. Bet they're watching everyone. Step up or get drowned out." Kael's stomach twisted. Veyl wasn't just an inspiration anymore—they were a presence, a standard he had to meet. He closed the app, the song still echoing in his mind, and resumed walking, his steps heavier.
He ended up at The Ember, the club hosting the showcase. It was closed now, its neon sign dark, but Kael could imagine the stage inside—small, intimate, unforgiving. He stood across the street, hands in his pockets, picturing himself under the lights, his voice cracking, the crowd silent. The image shifted to Veyl in the shadows, watching, judging. His chest tightened, and he turned away, the city's pulse suddenly too loud.
Back home, the apartment was dark, his mom's shift running late. A note on the fridge read, "Proud of you. Rest up." Kael smiled faintly, but the warmth didn't reach the cold knot in his gut. He sat at the kitchen table, pulling out his notebook. The skyline sketch from days ago stared back, its lines bolder now, like the city was daring him to keep going. He flipped to a blank page and wrote, not lyrics but a question: What does Veyl mean to me? The pen moved: A spark. A shadow. A voice I can't reach but need to answer.
He grabbed his guitar, the new strap soft under his fingers, and played Shatterpoint—not the studio version, but the raw demo. The chords were rough, his voice uneven, but it felt like truth, like the alley's graffiti or Veyl's static-laced piano. He recorded it on his phone, a single take, and listened back. It wasn't perfect, but it was him, and that was what he'd bring to The Ember.
His phone lit up—a call from Mira. He answered, her voice bright but edged with nerves. "You heard Veyl's track, right? It's… intense."
"Yeah," Kael said, leaning back. "Feels like they're talking to me."
"Same," Mira said, quieter. "I, uh… I signed up for the showcase. Open mic slot, not the main stage. Just one song." Her words rushed out, like she was afraid to take them back.
Kael's eyes widened. "Mira, that's huge. What changed?"
She laughed, shaky. "You. That park thing. I don't know if I'm ready, but I'm done hiding. Figured if you can risk it, so can I."
Kael grinned, pride swelling in his chest. "You're gonna kill it. We'll both choke or soar together."
"Deal," she said, and he could hear her smile. "But, Kael? Don't let Lex polish you too much. That raw stuff… it's why I believed in you."
Her words hit like a tuning fork, resonating with his own unease. "Thanks," he said, his voice firm. "I won't."
After the call, Kael sat in the dark, the city's hum a distant lullaby. Veyl's Fading Static played in his head, its lyrics a challenge: Shout through the noise. The showcase wasn't just about impressing scouts or matching Veyl—it was about claiming his voice, raw and real, no matter who was listening. He thought of Mira's courage, his mom's quiet pride, Juno's unexpected defense. They were all part of his sound, part of the truth he was building.
He picked up the guitar again, strumming softly. The notes felt like a conversation—with Veyl, with himself, with the world. The showcase was coming, and Kael wasn't just preparing a song. He was preparing to be seen.
To be continued…