The city was loud, but there was a way in which certain corners seemed to carry a different kind of noise.
Excited, curious noise.
Kael had heard it before — once or twice when Mira pulled them quickly past the south market street. The crowd gathering around a man with burned sleeves and a voice full of bravado.
They'd never been allowed to stop.
---
Today, Mira was busy at the healer's hall. Tarren was still at the dye pits. For the first time, no one was there to tug their hand and keep them moving.
So Kael stopped.
---
The man's name was Branth.
He wasn't what anyone would call respectable: hair tied back with frayed cord, one sleeve scorched at the elbow, a crooked grin that showed a gold-capped tooth. But he had a gift for drawing a crowd.
"Gather up!" he called. "We're making sparks today!"
Children and a few teenagers stood in a loose ring. Some perched on crates, others crouched low, their eyes wide.
---
Kael lingered at the back, not sure if they should stay.
And then Branth began to speak.
---
The words were strange. Not like anything Kael had ever heard. They had caught fragments of this language in the streets before — bits of syllables chanted by traveling mages — but it had always sounded like nonsense.
Now, for the first time, they heard a whole spell from beginning to end.
> Breathe on the cold stone,
call the hidden fire within,
let it answer me.
---
The crowd gasped as a flame leapt across Branth's fingertips.
Kael forgot to breathe.
Because those weren't nonsense sounds.
They were words.
---
English.
Not just similar. Exact.
---
Kael's heart was suddenly in their throat.
Why would they be speaking English here? How—?
They didn't even realize they had stepped closer.
---
Branth noticed. "You," he said, pointing. "Yes, you with the staring eyes. Come here."
Kael froze.
A few of the older kids snickered.
"Come on," Branth said. "Don't just watch. You'll never learn anything that way."
---
Slowly, Kael stepped forward, acutely aware of all the eyes on them.
Up close, Branth smelled like smoke and cheap liquor, but his grin wasn't unkind.
"Ever try magic?" he asked.
Kael shook their head.
---
"Well, then," he said, "today's your day. We'll start with something simple."
He crouched so they were eye-level and drew three lines on the cobblestones with a stub of chalk.
"These words make sparks," he said. "They're older than me. Older than anyone here. Repeat them exactly as I say them. Think of the tip of your finger, like you're asking the world to listen."
---
Kael nodded, trying to hide the storm in their thoughts.
---
Branth recited the words slowly.
Kael followed.
This time, they weren't thinking about magic.
They were thinking about how impossible this was.
About why they could suddenly understand every syllable.
---
When the last word left their lips, there was a faint snap of warmth on their fingertips.
A spark. Small as a pinhead, but real.
---
The circle of kids gasped.
Branth raised his eyebrows. "Not bad. You've got a clear voice for the language. Better than I expected."
Kael just stared at their hand.
---
They had felt it.
Not just the magic, but the shape of the words.
A rhythm.
---
"Try again," Branth said.
They did.
This time, the spark came faster.
---
After a few attempts, Branth stepped back, gesturing to another kid who begged for a turn. "Keep practicing that when you're alone. Once you get that, you can start on the bigger tricks."
---
Kael stayed quiet at the edge of the circle, listening.
Spell after spell.
Each one a short verse.
Each one in English.
---
At first, they thought it was coincidence. But by the third spell, Kael noticed the pattern.
Three lines.
Five beats. Seven beats. Five again.
A structure. A haiku.
---
By the time Branth pulled a ribbon of water from the air, Kael wasn't watching the magic anymore.
They were watching the language.
---
When the crowd began to disperse, Kael lingered.
"Hey," Branth said as he packed up his chalk and a dented tin cup, "you've got a good ear for it. Where'd you learn the language?"
Kael blinked. "I… didn't. I just understood."
Branth stared for a moment. "Strange kid," he said finally, but without malice. "Keep that up and you'll go far. Or get yourself in trouble. Same thing, really."
---
Kael walked home with the words echoing in their head.
---
At dinner, they barely touched their stew.
"You're quiet," Mira said.
Kael stared at their bowl. "I saw magic today."
---
The spoon paused in her hand.
"Where?"
"In the south market. A man named Branth was teaching kids how to make sparks."
"You stayed to watch?"
"I made one."
---
Tarren looked up sharply. "You cast a spell?"
Kael nodded. "I said the words. And there was a spark."
---
Mira shook her head. "Kael, that's not a game. Magic's dangerous when you don't know what you're doing."
"I wasn't playing," Kael said quietly. "I wanted to hear it."
"Hear it?" Tarren asked.
---
Kael hesitated.
How could they explain?
"The words," Kael said finally. "I understood them. Like… like they were my own."
---
Mira and Tarren exchanged a look.
"That's not possible," Mira said. "No one understands the language unless they're taught. Not even the mages. They just repeat what they memorize."
"I did," Kael insisted.
---
Tarren's voice was calm but heavy. "Be careful who you tell that to. Understanding things other people don't… can be dangerous."
---
Kael nodded. They weren't going to tell anyone else.
They didn't need to.
---
That night, lying in bed, they whispered the haiku again.
Not just to feel the spark—though it came, faint but real—but to feel the shape of it.
Five. Seven. Five.
Not just magic. Poetry.
---
And for the first time, Kael realized there might be a way to change the words, to bend them, to make them their own.
Not yet.
But someday.