Chapter 13: Rehearsal for Truth
Kael's bedroom was a chaos of sound and light, the late morning sun slicing through the blinds, glinting off scattered guitar picks and crumpled lyric sheets. His guitar rested on the bed, the new leather strap draped over it like a banner. The SoundSphere showcase was six days away, and Kael had spent the night wrestling with Shatterpoint, stripping it back to its raw core. The chords were simpler now, the vocals unpolished but searing, each note a pulse of crimson and shadow in his mind. He'd decided: this was the version he'd play at The Ember, no matter what Lex said.
A knock at the door startled him. Mira's voice came through, impatient but warm: "Kael, you better not be moping in there. I brought coffee." He grinned, shoving aside a pile of notebooks to open the door. Mira stood in the hallway, holding two to-go cups, her sketchpad tucked under her arm. Her hair was loose, framing her face, and her eyes held a nervous energy that mirrored his own.
"You're a lifesaver," Kael said, taking a cup. The coffee was bitter and hot, grounding him as he cleared a space on the floor. "You ready to rehearse?"
Mira snorted, setting her cup down. "Ready? I'm a mess. My song's half-done, and I keep picturing the crowd staring like I'm a trainwreck." She sat cross-legged, pulling out her sketchpad, where a new drawing—a woman singing under a spotlight—covered the page. "But I'm here, so… let's do this."
Kael grabbed his guitar, the strap soft under his fingers. "You'll be fine. Just sing like you did in the park. No one's judging." He caught her skeptical look and added, "Okay, maybe they are. But screw 'em. It's your voice."
Mira's lips twitched into a smile, but her hands fidgeted. "Easy for you to say. You've got Lex and Juno hyping you up. I'm just… me." Her voice dipped, and Kael saw the shadow of her old doubts, the ones she'd buried under bravado.
"You're not just you," he said, strumming a soft chord. "You're the one who got me to post my first track. And that drawing?" He nodded at her sketchpad. "That's not nothing. You're already halfway there."
She met his eyes, her expression softening. "Thanks, Kael. You're not as hopeless as you look." She laughed, the sound easing the room's tension. "Alright, let's try this. You go first."
Kael nodded, adjusting the guitar. He played Shatterpoint, the raw version, letting the chords breathe. His voice was rough, cracking on the high notes, but it carried the weight of every fear he'd faced—his father's dismissal, Lex's pressure, his own fragility. The room seemed to shrink, the notes painting a cityscape in his mind: rain-slick alleys, neon flickering, a lone figure shouting into the void. When he finished, Mira was quiet, her eyes wide.
"Damn," she said finally. "That's… you. Like, all of you. You're really doing this raw, huh?"
"Yeah," Kael said, his throat tight. "Lex wants the polished one, but this feels right. Even if it tanks."
Mira nodded, her expression serious. "It won't tank. It's too real." She hesitated, then added, "I heard Juno talking at the studio yesterday. He thinks Lex is pushing you too hard. Said he's seen it before—producers turning artists into products. Juno's… complicated, but he's got your back."
Kael's chest tightened. Juno's quiet defense in the studio had surprised him, but Mira's words hinted at a deeper story. "What's his deal?" he asked. "He's always got this edge, like he's fighting something."
Mira shrugged, sipping her coffee. "Rumor is, he was in a band a few years back. Got close to a deal, then it fell apart—label wanted them to change everything. Juno walked away, but it messed him up. Now he's picky about who he works with. Guess you passed his test."
Kael absorbed this, the pieces of Juno's cynicism clicking into place. He thought of Lex's ambition, the way his eyes lit up at the word "scouts." Was Lex building Kael up, or shaping him into something else? The question lingered, heavy as the guitar in his hands.
"Your turn," he said, nudging Mira. "Show me what you've got."
Mira took a deep breath, her hands trembling as she pulled out a crumpled sheet of lyrics. Her song, "Flicker," was soft and haunting, about chasing a dream that kept slipping away. She sang a cappella, her voice shaky but clear, each note a fragile thread of longing. Kael joined in on guitar, improvising a simple melody that wove around her words. When they finished, the room felt fuller, like they'd built something together.
"That was… good," Mira said, her voice small but bright. "I didn't hate it."
"You killed it," Kael said, grinning. "You're singing that at the showcase. No backing out."
She laughed, but her eyes held a new resolve. "Deal. But only if you stick to the raw Shatterpoint. Promise me you won't let Lex change you."
"Promise," Kael said, the word a vow to himself as much as to her.
After Mira left, Kael sat alone, the city's hum filtering through the window. He opened SoundSphere, scrolling through the showcase buzz. A new post caught his eye: Veyl had liked Shatterpoint. No comment, just a heart icon from their verified account. Kael's pulse raced, his hands clammy. Veyl was watching, listening. The weight of their attention was both a thrill and a burden, pushing him to dig deeper.
He picked up his guitar, playing Shatterpoint again, but this time he added a new verse, born from the day's conversations:
"I'm carving truth from stone and rust / Holding tight to what I trust…"
The words were raw, unpolished, but they felt like a map to the stage. The Ember was coming, and with it, a chance to stand in his truth—not just for Veyl, or Lex, or the scouts, but for himself, for Mira, for his mom, who'd left cookies and a strap and a quiet hope. Music was his voice, and Kael was done whispering.
He set the guitar down, the room still vibrating with the last note. Outside, a distant siren wailed, blending with the city's endless song. Kael closed his eyes, imagining The Ember's stage—not as a threat, but as a canvas. He'd paint it with his sound, cracks and all, and let the world decide what it heard.
To be continued…