The outer district of Resonatia—known locally as the Echoless Zone—was a place of hollow draft and distant echoes. Where the city proper sang in layers, the edge remained silent, brittle. Here, structures of frosted glass and polished metal stood empty, like mausoleums of song, holding space but producing none.
Aouli and Kaero stepped gingerly through the silent halls, the rupture-seed light in Aouli's satchel like a dark mote he couldn't hide. Only the faint hum of distant wind reminded them they were still within Resonatia's borders.
Kaero's posture, once taut with curiosity and determination, now trembled with something darker: fear tangled with guilt. His steps faltered on the smooth floor while his hands itched toward the knives strapped at his waist.
Aouli glanced at him. "Are you alright?"
Kaero swallowed. "Just… seeing ghosts." His jaw clenched. "Memory's still playing tricks."
They reached a wide atrium, shards of broken resonance falling as silent droplets from above. Inside, a single note echoed—a hollow ring from far away—like a distant bell mourning its own silence.
A light above them bent; one tower-pane flickered open, letting down a rope of chimes. Each bell was numbered, like instruments in a set, but none were tied to a score. They hung still—until Kaero knelt under them and touched the cold metal.
A chime rang out—but not the right tone. It trembled with anger. Cracked. Fractured. Before they could pull Kaero away, more chimes rattled, their reverberations weaving around him like threads, pulling at his chest.
Aouli reached for Kaero's arm. "Stop."
But Kaero pushed past him.
The chimes pulsed louder, echoing memory—guns firing, alarms screaming, sirens blaring in Kaero's ears.
He staggered, hands clenching his temples. "I hate it! I hate it so much!"
And then the world inside him cracked—revealing a scene from that day.
Memory Recoils
He was nine. Corridors slick with oil. Flames licking at the walls. Her—his sister—barely conscious against cold concrete, eyes glazed.
He pressed a hand over her mouth, warming her breath. The oil dripped. A match struck.
She moaned. So did he.
Then the corridor exploded.
He flashed back to the corridor, reliving every echo. Every scroll of glass. Every chime overhead.
Kaero's scream echoed off the walls, merging with the fragmented resonances of the chimes. And then the shells.
Night vision. Static. His sister's voice—a single tone, broken.
The memory broke him.
Kaero collapsed in the chimes' center, arms draped over his knees, head buried in his arms. The chimes around him continued to shake rhythmically, like falling rain.
Aouli crouched beside him, voice hushed. "It's okay. You're here. You're—"
"I should've died with them," Kaero whispered, words aloft in emptiness.
Aouli hesitated. "No—"
"I did survive," Kaero said. "But I took her place. Took my place. That night, I became someone else. And I can still hear her voice—'Stop carrying the weight like it's mine.' But I never stopped."
Tears he'd spent half a lifetime burying slid down his cheeks. The chimes rattled louder.
Aouli gently took his hands. "You don't have to carry it alone."
Kaero shook his head. "I chose to carry it. So I could be strong. But now—"
The chimes in unison cracked, one ring snapping, its tone gone bitter and hollow.
Aouli's eyes caught the rupture-seed's dark shimmer inside his bag.
It pulsed.
Just once. Then stilled.
He glanced at Kaero. "Sometimes, silence breaks containment. And that's not the end—it's part of—"
A sudden sharper note struck through the others, reverberating like a steel blade sliding free.
Kaero lifted his head.
If You Cannot Sing
The cracked bell had fallen from the rope, but remained aloft in the ghostly space—levitating.
A single word resonated in Kaero's mind.
"Sing."
Kaero stared.
The bell's fractured tone spoke of broken promises and unfinished endings.
In a moment of involuntary courage, Kaero stood.
He approached the bell.
Aouli rose, but remained still.
Kaero closed his eyes. Recalled the day his world ended.
He exhaled, voice low and rough.
A single note. Like a cry. A release.
It hung in the air.
Then a breath.
Then a second tone—bass, cracked, wounded.
The bell resonated. Each vibration healing its fracture.
Aouri watched, heart beating rapid.
Kaero continued—voice rising with memory and mercy.
He sang.
Not melody.
Not harmony.
But truth.
And as he did, the other chimes stopped.
Seats in the atrium shifted—their range narrowed, tones joined the hum of Kaero's breath.
A single chord emerged.
Kaero's voice cracked.
Then steadied.
After the Shatter
When his note finally faded, the chimes fell silent.
Kaero's knees buckled.
Aouli caught him.
They collapsed into each other.
The rupture-seed glowed faintly.
Kaero whispered, voice broken but steadier.
"Maybe… I can stop carrying it."
Aouli squeezed his shoulder. "You already have."
They stood.
The bitter chime that had broken earlier now sang soft and whole—mended.
A tower-pane flickered open again.
A low, inviting tone streamed out—a pure acceptance.
Aouli felt tears in his own eyes.
Not for him.
But for Kaero.
For survival.
For forgiveness.